


The Hermit of Steventon

by WillowPerpetua



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Hand Jobs, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Build, Stucky Big Bang 2016
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5593942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowPerpetua/pseuds/WillowPerpetua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Regency AU--<br/>Steven Grant Rogers is the owner of a sizable estate of some note. He has everything he needs: good friends, excellent servants, and so many thousand a year that it is never uttered aloud in good company. Everything is changed when a man stumbles onto his doorstep and Steve must save him by extraordinary means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which James Buchanan Barnes finds a bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for embarking on this new adventure with me. There are two reasons why this happened: The first is the ever excellent colorfulcandypainter, with whom I brainstormed this thing and then it snowballed.  
> The second is the fact that Jane Austen's home was called Steventon and I couldn't resist.
> 
> After a small hiatus, I am thrilled to bring this fic back as a part of the Stucky Big Bang 2016, now with graced with gorgeous artwork from two brilliant illustrators. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to samthebirdbae.tumblr for all her lovely work on the art for this fic and the big bang. Love and Gratitude to colorfulcandypainter for her unending support and beautiful artwork.

 

 

He had given up. Everything from the scraggly state of his hair to the length of his fingernails showed a man who had abandoned himself. It had not always been this way. He was once a glistening, gleaming member of the highest ranks of Her Majesty’s Army, drawn up tight in uniform with never a hair out of place, or else bedecked in the latest and best of fashions. This was the corpse of the man, still thrumming around on the earth for no other reason than his body had not seen fit to shuffle off with the rest of him.

He found himself on the gentleman’s estate out of chance or perhaps luck. The owner would have called it the latter, for if he went one house over, he would have been escorted off by a much rougher hand. As it was, shaking with cold and a fever he did not know he had, James Buchanan Barnes found himself ushered inside and given to a warm bed. It was the first his body knew in many a chilly month.

Steven Grant Rogers, who insisted much to the chagrin of his mentor and friends on being called Steve by all who knew him, owned a sizable home of some note. This was how he would describe his fortune and residence, which was known to others as the largest and most exquisite estate in the county. It was a small secret that he was a bachelor, but so far none of the fine ladies presented to him had managed to turn his head and every fine lady had been thrown at him, repeatedly.

None of these facts, the estate, Steve Rogers, or the preferences thereof, were known to James Barnes as he dozed in a fever on silk sheets. None of it mattered. The days passed, and James had a faint idea that he was being watched over. That was terrible and delightful and the softness beneath his head was a rapturous comfort parallel to none but the feeling of his feet which were neither sore nor cold. He slept on.

“How is he?” A deep voice asked from just out of sight.

“He’ll recover.” Another voice intoned from above. “He’s been through quite a shock, this one. One of your comrades in arms?”

Silence.

“Captain Rogers, you know I’m not one to gossip. As your doctor, I honor the delicate nature of our relationship, which comes first in all things, of course.”

“He is not known to me.” Captain Rogers replied, in a quiet voice. “Nor to anyone else in the house. He appeared, as if he wandered in from the fog off the lake and collapsed on the steps outside. He may as well be a ghost.”

James sighed and rolled over, pulling the sheet with him. He was comforted, in a way, to hear himself spoken about in such terms. If he was a ghost, nothing he did before mattered. Nothing he did in the future was of any consequence. He could die right there in that bed and never a soul would mind. It was a good feeling, though from the sound of Captain Roger’s voice, his host did not share his views on the matter.

“I feel most strongly that you must keep him until you know more.” The doctor said.

“More of what?” Captain Rogers asked.

“More of his health, primarily. He must not leave until I have come again and pronounced him fit. But further, I recommend that he be kept safely on your grounds, under your watchful eye, Captain, until you know that he is no danger to you or to anyone else in the village. He may be here of some sinister purpose. I know this may be a terrible imposition, sir, but please do it. I implore you.”

“I intended nothing less, Dr. Banner.” Captain Rogers said, his voice friendly and familiar. “He shall be watched over, and I will provide for him however he needs. We shall see what this man has brought with him, whether it be for good or ill, we will discover when he awakes.”

* * *

 

Hours later, when James could stand it no more, he opened his eyes. The face he saw was sharp, framed by the reddest of hair, and it hovered only inches above his own. She wore an expression of curiosity, judging and careful. James did not startle, nor did she as their eyes met, though she backed away slowly.

“You’re awake.” She said.

“Clearly.”

“Very well, then.” She said, and said no more before turning from the room and leaving him with himself. James observed his surroundings, fine but not extravagant. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling and sunlight streamed in. He could make out the brilliant green of the lawn from outside, stretching out as far as he could see. There was no sign of the craggy outcropping which he ascended—his last memory before his mind became hazy as it was want to do.

“Excellent, you’re awake.” A voice roused James from his memories. He turned to see a man, tall and regal, standing above him. It was no less impressive a sight than if Michelangelo’s David were brought to life before his very eyes. Bucky blinked the thought away and responded to his host.

“So I am told.” He said. “It is all your doing, I imagine.”

“We will leave the credit to God, shall we?” Captain Rogers, for this must be him, said with a smile, while he pulled a chair to James’s bedside. “I only provided the bed for your recovery. The miracle was all His.”

“Please. I feel ill enough as it is. Don’t speak of miracles until I’m a little sturdier.” James said, holding a hand up to silence the man. He went on, “And let us not forget, it would have caused a circus for you to allow me to die on your doorstep.” James said. The Captain’s face fell into a frown and the creases between his eyes looked at home there.

“That is not why I did it.” Captain Rogers said.

“Then why?”

“Because it was the right thing to do.” He said. The sincerity of his words made James wish he had not asked. He knew he ought to thank him, but it would not come. He would thank him when he left, which would be soon. This kindness was too rich, like a feast to a starving man, and oh how James was starving.

“Where am I?” James asked.

“My home. This is the Shield. It’s just North of Steventon.”

“Hampton?”

“That’s the one.” His host said, then extended his hand. “I’m Steve.” Bucky shook his hand though he shook his own head as well.

“Please, I can’t do with such informality while I’m lying in your bed.” James said. Steve sighed, but looked as if he was used to it.

“Very well. You tell me what to call you, then, and I’ll give you something more agreeable to call me.”

“Sargent James Buchanan Barnes, Sir.”

“I see. Very well, I can be Captain Rogers, or Steve, whichever you prefer. Names are of little consequence to me, all told.”

“They matter to me.” James said. 

The silence passed into something unbearable, which sat heavy and uncomfortable between the two of them, until the Captain rose from his seat. He rang the bell by the door.

“I’ll have Miss Romanoff bring some water up for you.”

“You don’t happen to have anything a little stronger, do you?” James asked. Captain Rogers’s frowned and withdrew a watch from his pocket. “It’s not yet eleven.”

“Does that matter?” James asked.

“I’ll have no drunks about my home, Sargent.” Rogers said, with the first sharpness that James heard out of him since he entered his room. “You may have a nightcap before bed, but that is all.”

“Understood.” James nodded.

 

Steve left and was replaced by the red haired maid, who brought with her a tray of water, bread, cheese, and a stack of books. James wolfed the food down as though he had been starving for days, and indeed, he had been. He picked the books up, examining their spines with interest and running his thumb across the rough pages. All unevenly cut and well-read before they reached his bedside. It was with a heavy heart that he saw the subjects of these books. Tomes of war, from the strategy thereof to great tales of battle. He set the books back down beside him and tried to think of anything else.

“Captain Rogers asked me to deliver these as well.” The maid said, slipping back into the room as quietly as a shadow. She placed a stack of clothes atop the armoire. Even from the distance of the bed, Bucky could tell that they were finer than any scraps of scavenged clothes he had worn in months.

“I can’t.” He hung his head.

“We can’t very well put you back in the things you came to us in. You were hardly decent.” Natasha said.

“No. I mean, my arm.” James said, gesturing to the useless limb that hang, lifeless by his side. He felt the blood rise to his cheeks and stared hard at the quilt over his knees. “It was injured. The clothing is a generous gift, but I’ll have a hard time with it.”

“I’ll send Wilson.” She said with a short nod before stepping from the room.

Bucky leaned back against the pillows and looked hard at the ceiling. The arm had been half the reason for his troubles. Sometimes he still believed he could use it if he thought hard enough. Sometimes he realized he was a fool. Sometimes he imagined finishing the job and chopping it off. It would hardly make a difference for what little good it did him.

Someone knocked on the door, interrupting James’s morbid train of thought. 

“Come in.” Bucky called. In walked a tall, handsome man, with dark hair and skin. He smiled, though cautiously, his eyes soft but assessing.

“Miss Romanoff said you needed assistance, Sir.”

“No.” James said.

“It’s not for me or you to argue with the likes of Miss Romanoff. She’ll have both our heads on a silver platter. Now, how may I be of assistance?” Wilson said.

Bucky nodded toward the stack of clothing and Wilson understood his meaning without explanation.

 

* * *

 

Downstairs, Captain Rogers was deep in thought about his guest, though not for long. The clip-clop of hooves in the drive alerted him to the arrival of a guest. He peered through the lace on the window and saw Mr. Stark’s carriage, unmistakable as it was with its ingenuity and grandeur, circling toward the front door. He waited for Mr. Stark to be let in and considered how much he ought to tell him.

“Captain Rogers, I don’t know if I ought to tell you this, but you’ve got a maid answering your front door.”

“Oh, never mind that, Mr. Stark. Wilson is otherwise occupied at the moment.” Steve said, and watched as Tony’s eyebrows rose in a curious arch. “I never took you for such an old fashioned man.” He said.

“Not me, sir, never.” Mr. Stark said in mock offense, though his smile betrayed him. He looked around the library, Steve’s favorite room in the house, and settled down in one of the matching armchairs. “So what’s got your home in such a flurry of activity today?” He asked.

“That’s the very thing I hoped to discuss with you. I must, however, first swear you to secrecy, my friend.” Steve said.

“On my honor as a gentleman.” Tony said.

“Alright.” Steve nodded, then leaned forward, “We found a man on the property two nights ago, barely alive. The doctor has been to see him and rest has helped to revive him, but he must stay here until he is able to tell us what happened.”

“Is he awake?” Tony asked.

“He is.”

“Then why can’t you ask him about his story now?”

“He’s…” Steve’s words failed him for a moment while he thought about how best to describe the man convalescing in his guest room, “a prickly sort of fellow. We have been able to get little from him and I fear one wrong word may send him off into the night.”

“Would that be so terrible?”

“You would not ask that if you had seen him even a night ago.” Steve said, his voice hushed. Mr. Stark leaned back in his seat and whistled long and low.

“Well this would be something for the gossip mill.”

“Tony, please, you said you wouldn’t mention it.”

“And I shan’t. Don’t worry, Steve. The last thing you need is every Tom, Dick, and Harry from town sticking their noses into the Shield trying to get a peek at this stranger.” Tony said.

“There is a reason it’s called the Shield. But you’re right, I imagine that is the last thing he needs.” Steve said.

Steve glanced upward, toward the ceiling and beyond where Bucky sat, finally dressed, cradling his head in his hands, feeling too lost and too fine in these garments made for a man he could never be.


	2. In which Mr. Rogers attends a party and Mr. Barnes takes a walk

Steve took to visiting James every day. Often, his schedule allowed only for a short visit, but sometimes he had the liberty to accompany him on his strolls down the corridors and through the rooms of the Shield.

“It’s a maze.” James said, swiveling his head back and forth between two mirroring staircases when they reached the landing, trying to familiarize himself with this new place. Steve laughed and placed his hand on James’s elbow to steady him.

“It has been in the Rogers family some hundred and seventy years. This house has been constructed and reconstructed. Yes, I suppose it is a maze.” Steve agreed and they continued on their way. He was loath to take his hand off James’s arm, for fear that he may stumble, and so he kept it there. If James minded, he did not say so.

“Where are the rest of your kin?” James asked. Steve said nothing. Perhaps he ought to have been used to this question, after so many years as the sole proprietor of the estate and everything that went along with it, but he could no more stomach the thought of explaining the fate of his family, which had always been small, than he could bring them back again. His guest did not push the line of questioning, and so Steve imagined that his sorrow must have shown on his face.

“Mine are gone well.” James said. The echo of their footsteps through the corridor made the only answer necessary. There was nothing to say on the matter, for what could one say to one who had lost everything of value? Steve knew that these halls were little more than stone and mortar unless there was life to fill it.

“Would you like to try walking out of doors today?” Steve asked.

“Yes, very much.” James said, and Steve was not surprised by the degree to which he meant it. From the time he had spent abed, he knew how deeply his guest must be longing for the sky and the open air.

“We shan’t go far, but it may do you some good. It always did for me.” Steve said.

They made their way out to the garden, with its fountains and neatly trimmed shrubbery. “I had to be sent home from school to convalesce more than once as a boy. Mother walked me around and around this paddock so many times I was found out here in my dressing gown quite asleep by the servants.”

“You’re joking.” James laughed.

“I assure you, I am not.” Steve laughed as well. “I was so desperate to get out of bed, I wouldn’t even stay in it to sleep.”

“I understand your point of view now.” James said. “May I ask…” He started to phrase the question, but realized before all the words had left him the impropriety of it.

“What kept me abed so much?” Steve finished it for him. “Certainly. I speak freely of it now that I am free of it. The trouble was with my lungs and heart, which were always weak. The physicians were never certain if I would make it until Christmas, no matter how many winters I weathered.” Steve stopped speaking and slowed looking at James with a considerate expression. “I can’t say why I am telling you this. I hardly know you.”

“You know me better than most.” James said.

“That’s troubling, now, isn’t it?” Steve said.

“There is a certain comfort in anonymity. I doubt you have ever felt it.” James inclined his head toward the house behind Steve. “If this is your legacy, and you are a Captain, you surely rose to acclaim quickly in the Navy.”

“Army.” Steve corrected him.

“Forgive my assumption.” James said.

“It happens all the time.” Steve waved him off and continued walking with James at his side.

“I wonder if you have ever walked through the streets in a city and felt the comfort in knowing that not a soul could discern you from any number of men about you.” The sergeant asked, and there was a note of pride in his voice that piqued Steve’s curiosity.

“I have, indeed. Though not often, and not under comfortable circumstances.”

“It is difficult to imagine you under any less than comfortable circumstances.”

“You have become very comfortable remarking upon my circumstances, I see.” Steve said, the curiosity he felt only a moment before doused by a cold wave of indignation.

“I intended not to offend, only to tease. Forgive me.”

“Sargent, one is no better for having done without than for having been given too much.” The Captain said, recalling the words of his father, some of the few he could remember. They walked on in silence. Still, Steve kept his grip on his walking partner’s arm and did not let him trip or stumble.

 

* * *

 

It was with a heavy heart that Steve left for Mr. Stark’s going away dinner, though he had been assured that all would be quiet during his absence. He believed it a mark of a gentleman to have a rapport so natural and trusting with one’s servants that any topic could be breached without fear and so it was with a warm smile that Sam helped him into his coat for the night and gave a hearty laugh.

“What?” Steve asked. In the mirror, he caught his reflection, which looked as troubled as he felt.

“He will be just fine, sir,” his valet assured him, taking the brush to his shoulders.

“James?” Steve asked.

“Who else?” asked Sam. “I am quite sure he will keep to his room, just as he does all day, and we will hear not a peep from him. It will be the quietest evening we have had around here in some time.” Steve felt his shoulders relax. “Very good, sir. Now, shall I tie your cravat as I did the yesterday evening?”

“I thought you were practicing something new,” Said Steve. He nodded his approval to his valet.

“Of course, sir.” Sam said. “I must endeavor, always, to improve these skills. I had less time to study than others.”

Steve watched in the mirror from a distracted distance. Sam’s skill was as good as any valet, no matter time he had to study tying cravats. Few other gentlemen in their rural patch of the country had ever met a man as accomplished as Sam in any regard.

“You will watch him?” asked Steve.

“There will be nothing to watch.” Sam said, in the way he knew under most circumstances would appease the master of the house. This time, however, Steve’s posture grew more rigid. Sam abandoned all pretenses and placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder, their eyes level. “Sir, you are looking for an excuse to remain at home and I will not allow it. Is it Miss Carter?”

“No, Sam. Miss Carter is perfectly admirable. I’m quite looking forward to her company tonight.” Steve said, and he found, as the words came forth, that they were quite true. If it was because he would rather stay at home and play cards with James, there was nothing for it. He could do that any other night, as he had for the past fortnight. “Then you have no excuses that I will accept. You must go to Mr. Stark’s dinner, and eat and drink and be merry.” He sighed and resigned himself to Sam’s pushing.

“For tomorrow we die?” Steve said, though with a smile.

“I do hope not.” Sam said.

 

* * *

 

Steve sometimes wondered if Tony kept his residence in Steventon simply because of the people who lived there. He had enough houses, enough businesses, with his factories springing up in the North and farms to supply them in the South that there was no need to hold onto this home in such a small village. It was, however, a place where Mr. Stark insisted on staying whenever he had the time, and each time he was forced to leave for any extended date, he hosted a gathering of one type or another.

On that singular evening, it was to a dinner party that Steve arrived as anxiously as always. It was not the company that he feared, for his friends were the type to great him warmly no matter the situation, but rather the fate of spending time in any company at all. It was a feat of some note that his companions could make him forget this swelling feeling of discomfort that grew in the core of him every time he was forced to leave the comfort and safety of his home and the solitude he found there.

“Good evening, Captain Rogers.” Mr. Jarvis said, ushering Steve inside.

“Good evening, Mr. Jarvis. I trust you’re well.”

“Thank you, sir. Quite well. The party has just gone into the dining room.”

“So soon?” Steve said. “I am later than I realized.”

“Ah, there he is!” Steve heard Tony’s voice bounce off the marble all around them when as he approached.

“I apologize for my lateness. I see you have not started without me.” Steve said.

“Of course not, though we were just discussing how best to shame you for your tardiness.” Miss Carter said. Through merciless wit and perfect poise, she was the kind of woman who could elevate the conversation in any company without once calling attention to the fact that she was doing so. She glided through society at all levels without so much as a hiccup, and it was for this, especially, that Steve admired her. For neither her great beauty, which she did indeed possess, nor her gender, nor her family, meant anything of consequence once Peggy Carter decided she wanted to achieve a goal.

“I am shamed enough, please, I beg you, shame me no more. The gaze of every person in the room at once is more than adequate punishment.” Steve protested.

The rest of the company now caught Steve’s eye, for the room was large and splendid as it always was whenever Mr. Stark held a gathering of any type. Mr. Odenson was without his younger brother and Steve regretted the relief he felt at this, though he could not help but remember the great trouble that the younger member of that otherwise charming family threw around him everywhere he went. Doctor Banner was likewise present, his usual, somber expression replaced by a slightly more jovial one. Miss Hill conversed in quiet tones with Mr. Fury, as was to be expected in any room which contained the two of them. It was only when Mr. Barton descended from the stairs in the adjacent room, laughing merrily at whatever witticism Mrs. Stark had told, that they found their seats.

“It is a rather uneven company we have tonight, isn’t it?” Miss Carter said, taking her seat between Steve and Mr. Fury. “Two men to every woman, why you must have been in quite a dither organizing our evening, Mrs. Stark.”

Mrs. Stark, who had married Mr. Stark after an extended engagement only a year before, gave her husband a look from under her brow along with an indulgent smile before returning her attention to Miss Carter.

“If the only surprise Mr. Stark springs upon me this week is a dinner party, I shall be quite astonished indeed. Spontaneity is the sort of thing I have simply made room for,” said Mrs. Stark.

“My apologies, my dear,” said Mr. Stark. “And to you, Miss Carter. There was little time to design the dinner, although I assure you the food shall not reflect the rush.”

“Have you been called away on an urgent matter?” Steve asked.

“Not urgent, but perhaps pressing. I must go to London to find the status of some ships that did not come in and see if anything can be done about them. It may take some time.”

“Gentlemen.” Miss Hill scolded gently, “Your conversation has veered dangerously toward work.”

“Forgive us, Miss Hill, we shall confine ourselves only to levity and matters of a frivolous nature now.”

“I fear this may not be so frivolous, but curiosity demands I ask: how fares your guest, Steve?” Dr. Banner asked, leaning toward him from beside Mrs. Stark.

“You have a guest, Mr. Rogers? And you left him at home?” Mrs. Stark asked. “We could very well have made room for one more if we knew!”

“He is” Steve glanced up the table at the doctor, unsure if he should show too many of his cards, “unwell, but thank you all the same.”

“Not too unwell, I hope.” Miss Carter said.

“That remains to be seen,” said Steve.

 

* * *

 

James waited for an hour. Two hours. When he was assured that the master of the house would not return in any timely manner, he struggled into his things as quietly as he could.

He had not, perhaps, been quite honest with his host, gracious though his hospitality had been. There was no way for James to know just how far the Captain’s honesty returned toward him, and so he never showed the full mobility of his limbs, nor that of his mind, both of which were more extensive than anyone who knew him had ever given him credit for.

The servants had retired to their quarters for the night. The challenge became disentangling himself from the many staircases and corridors of this house, which seemed ever circular and dizzying, without any of the occupants raising them from their beds. He managed to do so with one slow, careful footfall after another, remembering the many long walks he took with the Captain around the house.

He crept into the garden and around the back of the house, with one goal in mind: to return the way he came. Through the moonlight, he could see the road to his left and the expanse lawn which echoed out into a wilderness beyond and out of sight. He kept to the trees between these two until he heard the excited sound of horses galloping toward him. Peering out from the darkness, James watched a familiar carriage slow and stop before the Shield. It was not that of Captain Rogers, but rather a more foul and unwelcome contraption, pulled there by horses, but brought there by James and James alone.

 

 


	3. In which Lieutenant Rumlow comes to Steventon

From the road, Steve saw a figure standing at his door with a fist raised to knock. He had the overwhelming sensation of being outside himself, watching this scene play out as if he were not really there, but rather, floating above the scene. There he was, approaching, and there was the stranger, already at his home. They so nearly missed each other, and Steve found himself regretting deeply that the requirements of his station meant that he could not pretend to be away from home just a little longer. Instead, he watched the gentleman at the door carefully as he approached.

The man turned at the sound of the horses drawing near and rested his hand upon his belt. The man, Steve concluded, was armed and in enough of a state that his mind should jump to his weapon upon hearing a sudden sound. He settled to proceed with caution.

“May I help you, sir?” asked Steve, stepping forth once they had stopped.

“I hope so. I apologize for the hour.” The man said. His stature was nearly as imposing as the very fact that he was present at all on Steve’s doorstep without introduction. He was a tall man, even without his hat, a topper, which only added to his considerable size. His smile was agreeable, though Steve found something in it, or perhaps lacking from it, which was disagreeable.

“I am looking for the master of the house. I was told I could find Captain Rogers here, sir.”

“It is indeed quite late,” Steve said, and made no motion to invite the man inside, “but you have found him.”

“Forgive me, I have quite forgotten myself. Lieutenant Rumlow, at your service, sir.” The man, Lieutenant Rumlow, said. Steve felt no desire to prolong the encounter by inviting the man inside and so instead he waited. Silence, he found, was often as effective as questions in discovering a person’s motives. He waited for Rumlow to keep talking and he did.

“A small party of soldiers have been tasked with finding a man,” Rumlow said with an air of pride, “I am leading them. We think he may have come this way.”

“What about this man? Is he dangerous?” Steve asked.

“I am afraid so, sir. Quite.” Said Rumlow, in a low, conspiratorial tone.

“Very well, sir. Do come in.” Steve said, feeling that he could no longer excuse keeping the officer out on his front step. He called for tea and settled down to ask Lieutenant Rumlow exactly what was happening.

“I am afraid we know quite little,” said Rumlow after a finishing his tea. “The man was a sergeant before he abandoned his post. Injured, we believe, but that is no excuse. Turncloak. Spy. He’s a traitor to the nation.”

“What is his crime, exactly?” asked Steve.

“He gave up national intelligence.” Said Rumlow.

“I see. And how did he come to this removed place?”

“That, I cannot say, sir. Perhaps he thought he might be able to hide. You will contact me if you hear of any unusual activity? I am sure you must be the center of all life in the village.”

“Gracious, no. That honor goes to the good Mr. Stark, but he departs for London tomorrow.” Steve said. He saw the lieutenant’s face fall with a certain satisfaction that perhaps he may not have to endure so many visits like this. “I will, of course, let you know of anything remarkable.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Rumlow. “You may find me at the inn in town.”

 

Not a moment after Lieutenant Rumlow departed, much to Steve’s relief, did Sargent Barnes come bursting into the sitting room. He was in a state of extreme distress and everything from the hem of his trousers to his eyes were wild. His boots were caked in mud and his hair was standing on end as if blown about in a strong wind.

“Have you been out walking in the dark?” asked Steve.

“Running.” Mr. Barnes answered, still quite out of breath.

“And what were you running from?” Steve asked. He knew, or believed he knew the answer, but he could scarcely believe that this man meant any harm to him. He had more than ample opportunity to cause mischief, to steal from him or worse, during the time he had been a guest.

“I planned to sneak off in the night,” Barnes admitted, “but then I saw the carriage. You’ve met Rumlow.”

“How did you know?” Steve asked. Perhaps, he guessed, James overheard them speaking from the hall and eavesdropped. The obvious reason, that James was the runaway Sargent, made all the sense in the world, but was harder for Steve to digest.

“He is not what he seems, Steve.” James said.

It was the use of Steve’s name that caught his ear. The way that he said it, not in an overly familiar way, but as if begging, perhaps to be understood, tugged at Steve’s heart. It was a rare bird who abided by Steve’s wish for informality. Rarer still was a fellow who stood so low beneath Steve’s own rank and class who could speak to him so frankly. It made Steve listen. It made Steve like him all the more, and he already found himself inclined to like James whether he wanted to or not.

“I will ask no questions on the matter.” Steve said. “I shall only say that he knows nothing of your staying here.” Steve watched James’s frame fall, relieved, into the seat nearest.

“Thank heavens!” He cried.

“I must warn you now that if you infringe upon any laws while you stay in my home, I will be unable to help you. This is as far as my assistance goes.” Steve said.

“I promise you, my goal is to remain as anonymous as possible. If it is agreeable to you, I would like very much not to set foot beyond your property until the memory of their footprints has been forgotten by the soil,” said James with the utmost sincerity.

“That is certainly agreeable to me, for I would like to avoid arrest for harboring a fugitive. I believe that would be best done if you remain quiet and unseen.” Steve said.

With an agreement of James’s immediate future settled upon, and the near miss of the Lieutenant’s visit so fresh in their memories, as well as Mr. Stark’s party still weighing on Steve, they were both exhausted. James gratefully accepted a clean dressing gown from Steve for the night, thankful not for the first time, to be of a similar size. As he climbed back into the bed which had become his, he felt himself grow weary. He could not help the smile that lingered upon his face as he drifted to sleep.

 

 

Mr. Stark arrived early the next morning before his departure for London and found Steve sitting down to eggs and toast.

“I quite thought I had seen the last of you, Stark. What can have brought you back so quickly?” He asked, welcoming him in to breakfast.

“I’ve not yet left.” Said Stark, producing Steve’s pocket watch from his own pocket. “You left this at my home yesterday and I thought I’d better return it before I set off.”

Steve took the watch with the utmost gratitude and thanked his friend profusely, for he needn’t have gone to so much trouble to return the trinket. It was of little sentimental value. Stark waved away Steve’s thanks and helped himself to a piece of toast and jam.

“You’re too humble, Rogers, you know. Allow people to care about you once in a while. It may do you some good.”

“Is that what you’re really here about?” Steve asked.

At that, the sound of footsteps made their way into the dining room.

“Ah!” Mr. Stark exclaimed. “Your guest! Do forgive me for intruding, I had quite forgotten.” From the smile upon Mr. Stark’s sly mouth, Steve could glean that he had not forgotten at all. He supposed that this was indeed the reason for Mr. Stark’s morning excursion, and that he could not be satisfied to set off for his trip to London before he knew who was staying in at the Shield. “Good morning.” Said he, as Mr. Barnes entered the room looking extremely stone faced.

“Hello.” Said Mr. Barnes. He glanced at Steve with wider eyes than usual, though when Steve did not show any reason for panic, he seemed to relax by just a measure.

“Mr. Stark, allow me to introduce Sargent James Buchannan Barnes.”

“An honor, sir.” Said Mr. Stark, rising to shake Mr. Barnes’s hand.

“Likewise, I am sure.” Said Mr. Barnes, employing a demeanor that Steve had only seen in his earliest days of acquaintance with the Sargent.

James did not stay long at their table, only long enough to avoid suspicion. He retreated swiftly to his room having spoken a dozen words altogether, but Mr. Stark was cheerful enough to fill the whole room with his smile.

“Well there you have it.” Mr. Stark said, collecting his hat and coat at the door. “My curiosity is satisfied.”

“So you make no effort to conceal your true purpose in coming today.” Steve said, amused at his friend’s antics. He could always count on Tony for a certain degree of impropriety.

“Not at all. I would not leave the country until I knew who was staying with you.”

A sudden swell of nerves sank into Steve, realizing what he had just done in introducing the two, especially when James needed so dearly to remain as hidden as possible. He was overcome by guilt and then by fear. Mr. Stark watched the waves of emotion wash over his friend’s face and waited for it all to come out in words.

“Yes?” He asked, at length, when no explanation came.

“I must ask you to be discreet about his staying here, Mr. Stark.” Steve said. “His purposes are his own, and though he means no trouble, I am afraid trouble may find him all the same if he is known to be here.”

Understanding, the likes of which Steve himself did not quite understand, dawned at once upon his friend’s face.

“But of course, Steve!” Said Mr. Stark at once. “I assure you, not a word shall pass my lips about your” at this he paused for a moment as if thinking about the word “friend.” He settled on at last. Steve thanked him, wished him the safest of travels, and sent him on his way.

 

James returned to the dining room to scavenge for his breakfast after Mr. Stark left. He rose late, ate late, and did many things after the usual hour. Steve became accustomed to this in the days after his arrival. He assumed that it owed to James’s injury or illness or something of that note, but he came to understand that it was as much in his nature as his dark hair or pale eyes. He watched those eyes as James sipped a cup of tea and felt himself being watched in return.

“We can trust Mr. Stark.” Said Steve, finally, when the silence in the room was full of some unpronounceable sensation that Steve could no longer stomach.

“Good.” James said, nodding his head once with finality.

“Have you no questions of his character? No argument on the subject?” Steve asked, already prepared to explain his case and speak to the good nature of his friend.

“No.” Said James, simply. “Should I?” He asked.

“It is just that you always have an argument prepared for any subject.”

“Am I correct in believing that you trust him?” Asked James.

“Indefinitely and indubitably, sir.” Said Steve, for in his eyes, Tony Stark was and forever would be beyond reproach.

“Then so shall I.” Said James, and the matter was settled.


	4. In which Wilson tells his story and James acclimates to the Shield

It was on an uneventful afternoon when James’s curiosity finally won out and he found himself unable to maintain his silence anymore on a matter which had been burning inside of him ever since his arrival at the Shield.

“Wilson, I would like to ask you a question that I am afraid you may find rather impertinent.” James said, finally screwing his courage to the sticking place.

Wilson turned to him looking entirely amused and not at all put out at the interruption to his day.

“I am surprised that it has taken you so long, sir. Do ask away, whatever question you may have, I shall endeavor to give as good an answer as I may without betraying the confidences that others have placed in me” Said the valet in the best of tempers. It was meant to put him at his ease, and perhaps with any other man it might have done so, but for James, he found himself at a loss for words. He now found himself unsure where to begin and what to ask of the man standing before him, for suddenly, any and all questions he wanted to ask seemed to be prying a great deal.

“Alright.” James said at last. “How is it that you came to be in the service of Captain Rogers?” It was the best way that he could think to put the question.

“Oh my, it is a story.” Said Wilson with a great degree of delight at being asked. “Well, I was not born here, as you may have assessed.”

“I had not assessed that, sir.” Said James.

“Really?” Asked Wilson. “You detected no trace of an accent in my speech? I have done well then, in mastering the distinctions of the region. That is very fine to hear. But as it was, I was born far across the sea on an island not much like this one at all. My life was one of service, though not chosen, and my master was none so gracious nor as kind as Captain Rogers.”

“Are you—forgive me, for I have interrupted you.” James said, catching himself.

“Not at all, sir.”

“Do you mean to say that you were a slave?”

“Indeed, I was. As was my mother. I became literate in the course of my daily work and purchased our freedom through years of effort and careful management.” Wilson spoke with little inflection at this point in his tale, but there was a passion in his eyes to which James could relate. James begged him to continue.

“After the death of my mother, there was nothing for me there but bad memories.” Wilson went on. “I paid for passage and found myself aboard a ship, heading not for England, but North to America. On the way, however, we were intercepted by pirates.”

“No!” James interjected, thoroughly engrossed in the story.

“It is quite true. Though piracy has all but died out in many parts of the ocean, the Caribbean still has a stronghold in such illegality. I was fortunate enough, however, to be on a ship bound not for infamy but a short career in piracy. It was overtaken by some ships from the English navy who not only rescued me, but were glad to take me with them on their return to England for the price of labor. So, it took me three ships and a drastic change of travel plans, but I arrived in England.

I then discovered that the third officer’s friend was in need of a servant in his home and was willing to hire those of unconventional histories. The third mate had taken a shine to me and put in a good recommendation. Years later, and here we are.”

James leaned back in shock. Purchased freedom, piracy, narrow misses, unlikely friendships, he could hardly take the whole story in. Then again, James considered all that he had been through, himself, and how it would sound if summarized to an outside party. He imagined that any life, when boiled down to the bare particulars sounded fantastic, though Wilson’s life was among the more fantastic that James could imagine.

“I am astonished.” Said James, when he realized he must say something.

“As am I.” Said Wilson. “It all could have gone rather badly. Yet, here we are.”

“Here we are.” Agreed James. He left his dialogue with the valet with an established feeling of closeness he had not counted upon, but that he already felt grateful for.

* * *

 

James stayed closer to the house over the next many days, learning its ways, its rhythms. It was a life unto itself, from the running of the kitchen, a heartbeat of the house which gave life to all with its fine fare and constant awareness of the time, to the stable, which was a safe haven of calm. James found that he enjoyed the quiet of the horses, with their large, trusting eyes and the earthy scent that hung about the place.

Then, when it was solitude from both man and beast that James required, he found himself in the library. What a library it was. James was sure that he could read a book a day, every day, for the rest of his life and he would still not read half of the collection amassed by the family Rogers. When the light streamed through the windows and shone down upon the rows and rows of books, carefully categorized on their shelves, it was as if time was frozen there for him to take down and read.

And then there was the matter of the master of the house. Captain Rogers became Steve to James faster than he believed possible. It had not been a day after he opened his eyes, still sick and abed in this house, before James determined two things: first, that he could never call this man by his Christian name, and insult him wish such impropriety. Second, that he would stay for only a day or two.

James had been wrong on both counts.

It became clear to him that he must stay at the Shield if he wanted to avoid capture. It became equally evident that James wanted little more than to spend all the time with his host as time would allow. On both matters he resigned himself not to dwell. He would do as he must in the moment and worry about consequences later.

“Good afternoon.” Said James to Steve on an unusually sunny day, hardly glancing up from his book as he felt, more than saw, Steve enter the library, disturbing the stillness of the air.

“I hope I have not bothered you.” Steve said.

“Not at all, sir. I long for interruptions when reading philosophy.”

“You choose reading material that bores you?” Steve asked, glancing at the book and then up to James’s face with interest.

“Not that which bores me, sir. But the stretching of one’s mind is at times tedious, don’t you agree?” James said, glancing away from Steve’s eyes and out the window toward the sky, which was just as blue.

“Then why do you do it?” asked Steve.

“How about we go for a ride today?” James asked, avoiding Steve’s question as well as his eyes. “The horses are surely just as cramped as I am.”

“Fine. I’ll call down for them.” Steve said.

In no time, they were racing down the green, their cares and coats flying behind them. It was more than James dared hope to ride again, free of responsibilities or orders driving him on. Only the thrill of the chase and being chased spurred him forward.

He fell behind and watched Steve lean forward, urging his mare on. The chestnut of her coat gleamed in the sunlight and contrasted with the blue of his riding gear, all form fitted and expertly tailored. Bucky felt all the color overwhelm him, as if resurfacing from under water. He could not help but watch Steve’s movement’s, the deft undulations that he made to keep astride the animal, the instinctual movements of his hips and legs. He was a masterful rider.

Bucky worked to compose himself. He shook his thoughts into order before arriving at Steve’s side. He drew level with Steve and caught his eye. Their smiles met. James’s mind reasoned with itself: He could appreciate the beauty of the day and everything about it. He pulled ahead of Steve. He could even appreciate the beauty of the man who saved him, whose generosity continued to save him.

When he arrived at the edge of the woods, he slowed to a steady walk and waited for Steve to catch up with him. As he arrived into the dappled shade that the trees provided, Bucky’s will gave way. His eyes saw Steve’s face, made bright by the exertion of the ride, and he could think of nothing else.

Steve dismounted and led his horse just inside the edge of the trees, where a shaded pond waited for them. Bucky followed.

“It’s not so well stocked with fish as others on the property,” Steve said, glancing down into the depths of the pool, “and no good for bathing, but I sometimes come here to think.” He crouched on a low stone wall while the horses drank from the stream that flowed into the pond, giving off ripples. Bucky understood the temptation of the place. He took his seat next to Steve.

“And what have you to think on today?” Bucky asked.

“Today, I wish not to think.” Steve said.

As if bewitched by the trees and the melody of the water, Bucky thought of nothing as well. Their lips met as if by a force of nature, with eyes closed, for they did not need to see their way. When they parted it was only for breath.

When, at last, they opened their eyes again, Bucky saw in Steve a growing unease. He was unable to speak, for fear of exacerbating the anxiety written across his face. Bucky sought to capture those lips again, to remove the need for speech and thought entirely. Instead, Steve drew away.

With kindness, Steve shook his head. He placed an open hand upon Bucky’s shoulder as he stood.

“Now I must return to my thoughts.” Steve rode back to the house alone, leaving Bucky to consider what had transpired. He fell back against the low rock wall and looked at the sky through the trees, with Steve’s kiss still upon his lips.


	5. In which James makes a discovery and Steve is imposed upon

Steve arrived back at the house in a great state of agitation. He had forgotten himself out there among the trees and mistook the situation entirely. It was common, he knew for boys to placate the physical whims of growth and desire at school, but he was no longer at school and James was markedly past the days of boyhood.

Steve paced in his study and wrung his hands. He had already faced an agonizing barrage of questions from friends and family regarding his hesitance to take a wife. He could not afford a scandal. The reasons amounted, one after the other, for why he should never have allowed such a slip of consideration and restraint with his guest. All of those reasons vanished when he glanced out the window.

From his vantage point at this Southernmost wing, he could see James riding from the woods back to the house. He carried himself well on horseback. Steve regretted leaving him alone, although he knew not what he might have done if he remained even a minute longer out there in the woods with James and without his common sense.

His actions had been unforgivably rude, he realized, now that he no longer felt the desperate need to flee. What must James think of him? Was he at this moment drawing up a mental list of all of Steve’s crimes against him? A knock at Steve’s door broke him from his worries and reminded him of the broader world.

“Mr. Rumlow to see you, sir.” Said Sam. It was the last news that Steve wished to hear.

“Very well. Thank you, Sam. I’ll be down momentarily.” He said. Sam nodded and went to deliver the news to Steve’s unwanted visitor. Steve only hoped that James had the sense not to come inside. With a growing sense of dread, he descended the stairs and met his visitor.

“Mr. Rumlow, you’re back already, sir.”

“Only for a moment, I shan’t intrude on you long.” Said the Lieutenant, rising from the seat where he made himself comfortable in the parlor. “I only wished to let you know that several men from my company will be arriving on the morrow.”

“Is that so, sir?” asked Steve, feeling his anticipation double.

“Indeed.” Rumlow responded. Steve felt as if the Lieutenant was waiting for a response, though Steve knew not what kind he hoped to receive.

“Thank you for alerting me.” Steve said.

“My men are well disciplined. You shall have no trouble from us, I can assure you.” Promised Rumlow.

“I trust you to be quite capable of controlling your regiment, sir.”

“Perhaps, once the senior officers have arrived, I could invite you to dine with us and make all the necessary introductions.”

Steve did not feel much like agreeing to this offer, but he told the resolute officer that nothing would be more agreeable. This, at last, seemed to be enough and Rumlow departed.

 

 

Steve waited long enough to hear the footsteps of Mr. Rumlow’s horse fall into nothingness before he chanced to search for James. He was nowhere to be found.

“Natasha” Steve asked, passing her in a corridor.

“Yes, sir?” asked she, stopping just long enough to curtsy before continuing her work. Perhaps, if any other maid failed to provide the master of the house with every ounce of attention that she possessed, it would appear impertinent, but Natasha had the distinct ability to be excellent in all things she attempted at all times. The effect was that, no matter her preoccupation when Steve spoke to her, he felt as if he were the one shirking his duties. 

“Have you seen James?”

“Only this afternoon before your ride. Have you checked the stables? He’s there more often than not.” Natasha said.

With a thanks over his shoulder, Steve hurried outside and toward the stables, ignoring her call after him that Natasha could have somebody search on Steve’s behalf. He felt compelled to track James down himself. At the stables, Steve found nothing but the horses. He kicked at the hay in frustration before returning to the house to wait.

The shadows grew long and the candles demanded to be lit by the time Steve heard James approach. He longed to rush down to greet him, to scold him for his prolonged absence or inquire about the reason for it. Instead, Steve found that he could not move. Nerves stuck him still and he found it impossible to do anything but stare at the door.

“Steve!” James called, bursting through to his study. “I’ve made the most fascinating discovery.”

If Steve hoped to continue as if nothing had transpired in the woods earlier, one glance at James made such a feat impossible. He was in disarray, his hair mussed by the wind and jacket hastily thrown on. His cheeks were flushed by the cool air of the evening and his lips—one glance and Steve forced his eyes away. Steve was overwhelmed more than anything by James’s smile, which beamed across the room with all the brightness of the sun which seemed to have set outside in order to glow now in the room with the two of them. At once, he felt at ease.

“What is it? Tell me.” Asked Steve.

“When I returned to the house, I found you entertaining the inconvenient Lieutenant, so I decided to extend my exploration of your grounds. I went out to the craggy outcropping. Those cliffs provide such an exquisite view. There, I found a most singular cave. Do you know the one?”

“I do.” Said Steve. “I used to play in it as a child.”

“It is enormous.” Said James. “The size of a modest house, at least.”

“To be sure. I always wished to explore it further.”

“Why haven’t you?” asked James. Steve shrugged as if to say that better things engaged his attention than exploring caves.

His health was prohibitively poor as a child to do such things as explore caves and climb around the cliffs that may as well have been the edge of the world to him. By the time his health improved, he was the sole proprietor of the Shield and all the responsibilities that came with it. He found little time for exploring. There was a good feeling in knowing that the grounds provided such a source of excitement for James, however. The look of rapture on his face was perfectly enchanting.

“Do you intend to continue your adventures out there?” Steve asked.

“If you will permit me,” said James. Steve said that he would, of course, allow James to roam as much as he wished as long as he remained on the grounds of the property and James agreed. 

* * *

 

Only a few days later, Steve was paid another visit, this one more favorable than the last.

“Mr. Stark!” Cried Steve, embracing his friend. “I had not expected you back in Steventon so soon. What can you be doing here?”

“There was nothing to be done in London, I’m afraid.” Said Mr. Stark. “The ship is gone and I am left to make up the deficit and explain their absence to my father. That will be a thrilling letter to write, to be sure.”

“Yes, and you can scarcely afford one ship,” said Steve, rolling his eyes.

“Sarcasm does not become you, my friend,” said Mr. Stark.

“You are quite correct.” Steve said, “You are more than sarcastic enough for the pair of us, but I shall endeavor to keep up. I can’t have it said that I am the second wittiest man in Steventon.”

“How fares your friend?” asked Mr. Stark.

“Somewhat better, I think.” Steve said, hoping that Tony kept his promise to remain quiet about James’s presence. “The militia has come to town.”

“This is some news indeed.” Mr. Stark exclaimed, leaning forward to take in the news. “And does your friend’s presence have anything to do with this occupation?”

“Tony, I beg you not to say a word.”

“A word about what, my friend? There are so many words to be said. Why, I can prattle on all day about the weather. Lord knows, I am never at a loss for good things to say about the local ladies of good fortune and breeding.”

“Mr. Stark, you are recently married.” Interjected Steve.

“Quite right. That will never do for polite conversation.” Said Mr. Stark. “Very well then, I shall speak on and on at length about my misfortunes in the shipping industry and bore everyone in the room to tears.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“Thank you? For what?” Tony asked with a sly smile. “But Steve, if the militia is indeed coming, you must host a ball. It would be only fitting.”

At this, Steve ruffled, feeling disinclined in the most extreme way to host a ball. He was not likely to want to go to a ball under the best of circumstances, let alone when he was harboring a fugitive. The thought alone made him feel lightheaded.

“Why me?” Steve asked. Mr. Stark fixed him with an incredulous look and then cast his eye around the room.

“There is no one better suited to host and it will remove all suspicion from you.”

Steve considered the truth of this. His friend made a reasonable point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience. Medical problems persist, so my writing output has slowed down, but my enthusiasm for this story is just as great as ever and I continue to chip away at it as I can. You are all delightful and your comments make me the happiest person on earth. <3


	6. In which Mr. Rogers hosts a ball

“What happened?” James asked, catching sight of Steve. Mr. Stark had departed more than a quarter hour ago, and Steve had made not the slightest sound, so James went in search of him. He looked as if the world were crumbling around him, collapsed in a chair as pale as paper.

“I don’t know how I will manage it.” Steve said.

“Manage what?”

“I am to host a ball,” said Steve, as if he were announcing his impending execution. James was overcome with laughter. He fell into the nearest chair and took a full minute to recover. “Please, I beg you, do not mock me,” Steve implored his friend. He was very pale and looked as if he might be sick.

“How can it be that a man of your fortune and standing has never hosted a ball?” James asked.

“Never by myself. I have never seen to the details. There are so many.” Steve’s voice trailed off and he looked, if possible, worse.

James leaned forward and took his hand. Steve’s eyes met James’s at once. For a moment, James imagined that Steve may retract his hand and reproach him for the touch, but instead he held on tighter, searching for the grounding that he provided.

“You are certainly not by yourself in this.”

“And that is a problem, isn’t it?” cried Steve. “You must not be here! You must be as far away as we can manage. I promised to give you safe quarter in my home, but we cannot keep you here while there are all the military men in the county under my roof. That’s courting disaster in the worst way.” Finally, Steve drew breath and hung his head low in defeat.

“Well,” said James when Steve glanced up to witness his sly smile, “There’s always the cave.”

This, at last, procured a weak chuckle from Steve.

 

Steve paid a visit to the Carters. The family was of small fortune, but kind and hospitable and they had a connection to the Rogers family going back generations. Steve considered it his great fortune to be connected to the Carters, though it would likely be seen in the other direction by onlookers: That it was the Carters who were lucky to be associated with the family Rogers. The gossip was impossible to ignore, no matter how closed from society Steve tried to make himself. It was the wish of many in the village that Steve might one day take Miss Carter as his wife.

“Hello, Miss Martinelli. I hope I am not intruding.” Steve said, as the Carter’s maid answered the door.

“Not at all, sir.” She said with a low curtsy and her smile, always in place. “I shall tell Mr. Carter that you have arrived.” She led him inside as if it were his own home. Steve felt so comfortable in these halls, with their low ceilings and simple moldings that he may as well have called this place home, for all the time he spent here as a child.

“Good afternoon,” Steve said as he was ushered into the room with Mr. Carter.

“Ah, Mr. Rogers, I am afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time.” Mr. Carter said, with his usual sideways smile.

“Terrible. My timing is inconvenient, as ever. I apologize, sir.” Steve said with a shake of his head.

“Do nothing of the sort. I’ll call for Mrs. Rogers and Margaret.” At this, Mr. Carter bowed his head. “If you will forgive me.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Carter,” said Mr. Rogers and bowed him from the room.

It was their usual charade. Mr. Carter abhorred almost all company, but tolerated Steve with the best of grace. It was the fault of his age, his countenance, and his desire not to play games of any type of social nature. This, he left for his wife and daughter, who were more than capable of securing a future for Peggy.

“Steve!” Peggy called as she descended the stairs. “How good it is to see you, and how unexpected. Is there a holiday I have missed? You’re not due to leave the Shield for another month, at least.”

“That is precisely the reason I have come.” He looked between Mrs. Carter and Peggy. “The militia is coming and I am to host a ball at the Shield.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Carter interjected, “That is wonderful. Steve, I am astonished. You! Hosting a ball. I would more likely believe you to host a bullfight.”

“Yes.” Said Peggy in a quieter tone, her gaze fixed on Steve, “This is some unexpected news. How ever did you come to this decision?” She asked. Steve felt the blood rise to his cheeks. It was as if she already knew his duplicitous motives.

“It was suggested to me by Mr. Stark.”

“Ah, that makes some sense.” Peggy said, setting her jaw. “Mother, I suppose we ought to set ourselves to the task of helping our friend.”

“I suppose we must.” Said Mrs. Carter. “It is a lovely day. Why not take a stroll to discuss the finer points?”

“Yes.” Said Steve. “Let’s.”

 

In hushed tones, once out in the garden, Steve could finally confide in Peggy the particulars of his troubles and the true reason for his visit.

“My, you have gotten yourself into it, haven’t you?” Peggy said, at last, once Steve finished speaking, breathless.

“You are treating this far too lightly.” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t pout,” chided Peggy. “I am taking the matter with all the gravity the situation requires, I assure you. It is quite serious. There is, however, a simple solution that you have not considered, and she is standing directly before you.”

Steve’s eyes widened as he regarded Peggy. It was a fact he had long known, but that frequently washed over him anew that she was many times as brave as the men he worked alongside, and that the tragedy of Miss Carter’s life was that she had been born Miss Carter instead of Mr. Carter; therefore, doomed not to be given all the respect owed to her by society at large.

“I would say that I cannot ask you to do such a thing.”

“Yes, but we both know how such a conversation would go. Let us save ourselves the time and frustration and agree that Mr. Barnes will stay at my home in secret while my family and I are in attendance at the ball.”

“Do you think he will be safe here?”

“Angie is more than a match for him. She’s likely to talk him to death.” Peggy said.

 

The day came, finally, after much anxiety. Steve found that he could not keep himself from snapping at anyone who approached him for any purpose. He enjoyed a challenge under nearly any circumstance. The chance to engage in the most daring combat was one of the things that drew him toward his profession, initially.   
However, this challenge was the kind that Steve could not stomach. Small talk, presenting himself not only to his friends, but to friends of friends, _to acquaintances,_ to those who would enter his home without having ever met him, but simply with an invitation due to social rank, was the kind of thing that made Steve’s blood run cold. And then, worse, he would have no choice but to stand in the limelight before them as their host, to shine. It was the worst in every imaginable way.

“You’re fidgeting.” Said James, entering Steve’s study without knocking. As of late, knocking begat jumping, which begat an angry glare, and nobody much enjoyed being the victim of that.

“Am I?” Steve asked.

“Yes. Though if anyone has a right to be fidgeting, it may as well be me,” said James, “for my chances of being discovered are about to increase dramatically.” He said the words with a smile.

“Perhaps that is my reason for fidgeting.” Steve said.

“Do you mean to say that you are concerned for my wellbeing, sir?” James said. His smile may have been meant to be sarcastic, but it radiated sincerity. There was no hiding his meaning.

“If that is not apparent by now, I know not how else to show it,” said Steve.

In the space and silence that stretched between them following this declaration, it may have been the simplest thing to stretch out his arms and take James’s hands. It may have been nothing for Steve to close that distance between them as they did in the woods. However, for Steve, there may as well have been an ocean between them. He could no more close that gap than he could declare James an innocent man. So he made himself content in watching those stormy eyes and believing that his feelings were reciprocated.

They sent James to the Carter’s home in Steve’s carriage under the guise of an act of chivalrous generosity. The Carters would be given use of the grander and more comfortable carriage for passage to the ball. It would also allow for James to slip, unnoticed, from and back to The Shield. This was just one of Peggy’s contributions to the strategy that left Steve wishing he had her incomparable mind during discussions of tactics.

 

The guests poured in as freely as the champagne. They swam around him, jeweled fish in a sea of silk. The music tripped and trilled through the air. It was to his astonishment that Steve realized that he was smiling.

“Steve!” Tony said, clapping him on the back, a warm smile settled on his face. “I have been all around the world, you know, and never have I found a place with as much charm as the Shield. You ought to show it off more.”

“That’s kind of you.” Steve said, “are you sure you wouldn’t like me to show off the wine cellar more?”

“That as well. You have an excellent collection.” Tony said, raising his glass to toast Steve.

“I have found something, my friend, that I believe would improve your estate greatly, however.”

“And what is that, Mr. Stark?” Steve asked, humoring his friend.

“Around London, there are all kinds of chaps with the strangest and best of collections and items. I met a man with a hermit.—“

“You met a hermit in London?” Steve asked.

“No. Well, not quite.” Said Tony. “I met a man who kept a hermit. Paid him to live on his land and tell fortunes and give sage advice. Was quite the ornament, I must say.” Tony finished his wine while Steve laughed.

“See?” Tony said, “You’re not walking to the gallows! Perhaps, you may even be enjoying yourself.” This statement was all it took to bring Steve back to himself. The smile slid back to the ground where it belonged and he felt decidedly soberer.

A touch upon his shoulder alerted him to the arrival of another to their party. He turned to see Mr. Fury, now dressed in his finest, with every badge of honor pinned to his breast, so that the world could know him only as Major General Fury, tonight.

“Sir, how good it is to see you.”

“I could say the same of you. What an unexpected pleasure you have given Steventon.” Anyone unfamiliar with the General’s mannerisms would not have caught the layers of humor hidden under his formality, but Steve could hear nothing but his sarcasm. He smiled at the joke.

“Well, it was my turn, I suppose.”

“Come,” said Fury, “there are some people you ought to meet.”

To his chagrin, they crossed the room right into the very group where Lieutenant Rumlow stood waiting to catch Steve’s attention. There, also, stood two men who were introduced to Steve as Major General Pierce and Colonel Coulson. These men, Steve was relieved to discover, were perfectly amiable. Their first impressions much less overbearing and odd than the unfortunate Rumlow, who stood at the wayside of their conversation, occasionally interjecting his views on the topics discussed, but generally offering little other than his own vanity.

Steve was saved as the dancing began.

“Gentlemen.” He said, as the couples found each other through the crowd. “I have promised the first dance and I must make good on my commitment. Will you please excuse me?” And with the bold-faced lie still in his throat, he turned, realizing as he did that his excuse for leaving one uncomfortable situation left him in a much worse predicament.

His eye caught on Miss Carter and he fled to her like a man dying of thirst might run to the ocean.

“Miss Carter, please tell me you have not already promised the first dance to another.”

Peggy laughed, and shook her head, extending her hand to him. “I had all but promised it to you. I believed the words need not be said.”

They found themselves on the dancefloor, surrounded by friends and strangers. Steve stood across from Peggy, shoulder to shoulder with his peers, and as he watched her smile with all of the confidence that she carried in him, he felt that perhaps this was not folly. The music swelled, and as it did, breath tickled his neck in a pleasant way. A familiar voice, one that made him smell sweet grass, old books, see an indescribable color between grey and blue, whispered into his ear.

“What an excellent party you have thrown, Mr. Rogers.”

There, on his left, was James.


	7. In which James attends a ball

Peggy Carter carried out her duties so well, with timing not a beat off from the measure and her movements perfectly practiced, if James had not known her to be a woman of modest means, raised from birth in her quiet country home, he would have been sure that she was groomed from childhood for a life of espionage. There was something about her face, so calm in the presence of danger, that delivered James back to himself. He had been for some weeks on a holiday in his pretend life at the Shield. Now he returned to his work.

“Very good, you’re here.” Peggy said, ushering James inside once the carriage had been parked and the horses had been seen to. “Quickly, up the steps past the airing cupboard and three doors to your left. I’ve left it open for you.”

James nodded his understanding and took her instructions without comment. His mission was clear to him and it was evident who his commanding officer was. He had not asked Steve if the whole family whose home he was to be trespassing upon were in league with him. It seemed to James now that Peggy’s family were not expecting him.

He found the room, slipped inside, and exhaled a slow breath. It was interrupted by a woman’s voice, issuing from the chair across from him.

“They didn’t tell me you’d be so handsome.”

James’s blood ran cold. He had been caught and the ball had not yet begun. It was, undoubtedly, the least successful mission he had ever attempted.

“I must be in the wrong home.” James attempted, weakly.  

“Oh yes, that’s a good try, but I know who you are.” The woman waved him off. As she stood, she brushed the front of her dress, a crisp white apron, and the portrait of the situation painted itself inside of James’s mind.

“Are you Peggy’s maid?” James asked.

“Indeed, sir, and the best at it,” said she. “I am Angie Martinelli.” She curtsied, but kept her eyes locked on his own as a challenge or curiosity perhaps.

“I pray you, do not give me away.” James begged.

“Give you away? Is that what you think I mean to do?” Miss Martinelli said with a laugh that was at once girlish and as knowing as if she held all the secrets of the world. “I will do nothing of the sort. Miss Carter has commanded that I assist you during your stay and that is what I shall do. Now, if you please, sir, I must make ready my lady for her departure. Is there anything you require?”

James looked about at the room. There was a wardrobe, a bed, and a chair. He supposed he could hide under the bed, if he must, but it seemed as if Miss Carter and Miss Martinelli had schemed more than James had bargained for.

“No, thank you Miss.” He said. She left him to ponder the strangeness he had found himself in while he listened to the sounds of a household preparing to leave for a night of grandeur and excess.

He tried to close his mind from the sounds, to think of nothing at all. He tried to become nothing, himself, as once had been his custom. He had training at this, at stillness in solitude, and it was something he prided himself on. He took to it like one takes to any great talent, and so it was with surprise that he found he could not forget himself. Instead, when he closed his eyes and tried to clear his head, he saw Steve’s face. His voice, his laughter, the patterns of his speech crowded into James’s mind and stirred away the blankness that James sought. He shook his head, tried again, but had only the same results.

Pacing around the room did not help, nor did standing still and gazing from the window. James had the quickness of mind to duck beneath the windowsill as he heard the sound of hooves in the gravel pathway and the murmuring voices of the departing family. He threw himself down lower to the floor at the sounds of steps outside his room as a precaution.

“It’s alright,” said the maid from the doorway. “They’ve all gone out.”

James stood and tried to compose his face into the dignified expression of a man who had not been curled up on the floor.

“Thank you.” He said. “Well, if you’ll pardon me.” He said, and with a bow made to exit the room and head back for the Shield. Now that he was here, he could see very well that there was no point in his staying. He was stopped, however, by the sturdy figure in the doorway who did not make a movement to step aside.

“No sir, I do not excuse you. My orders were to look after you here.”

“And if I said I wished to leave?” James asked.

“Then I would tell you that you had better give me a compelling reason to go against my mistress’s wishes.”

James deposited himself back into the chair and placed his head in his hands. To say his true reason aloud would give it life, which was something he was not sure he could abide. Yet, no other reason he could create for needing to return was vital enough to warrant immediate action. The truth of the matter was that he wanted—wanted, yes, but not needed—to return to the shield.

“Oh.” Miss Martinelli said with more gravity than James expected. She sat down on the bed across from him with her hands in her lap as if expecting a story. When none came, she prompted him. “Well? Go on.” James only looked at her. “I’ve been telling Miss Carter that Mr. Rogers should get a live-in for years now. It would simplify matters so much. Then again it probably would have simplified matters more if he had gone ahead and married her first, but, well, I don’t think we get to choose when it comes to these affairs.”

“Live-in?” James felt as if he only caught some of her words. She spoke so quickly, her words so brash and without context, that he hardly understood.

“A lover, of course.” Miss Martinelli said without pause, shame, or even a giggle. James blanched.

“No! I. I mean, we—“ but what? Did he mean to deny it? They had done very little, but that was certainly not due to Bucky’s lack of desire.

“My dear fellow, save your breath. There are many people in this world you will need to fool. Let me never be one of them.” With a decided nature, she rose from her seat and strode into the hallway. James followed, for what else could he do?

She led him into the room of a gentleman and began rummaging through the wardrobe. James took a turn about the room, considering the books. Judging by the possessions of the man, this room was not used by the master of the house.

“Away at school, perhaps?” James asked, flipping through the novel next to the bed, which had accumulated a thin layer of dust since it was last set down.

“No, sir.” Miss Martinelli said, turning around with a meaningful look at James’s feet before returning to her work. “Michael, excuse me, Mr. Carter, is in London with his uncle on business. I think you’re just about the same size.” She turned around, carrying an array of fabrics, and laid them out upon the bed in an arrangement to show him her selection. “Yes,” said she,” that should do.”

Bucky stared at the clothing presented to him, unable to speak. He felt compelled to argue, to refuse, but it was exactly what he required. He wanted access to the ball, to see Steve, and here, presented to him in his hour of need, was the ticket to slip inside without notice.

“It is a fairytale.” James said, at last.

“And you are the frog prince, I am sure.” Miss Martinelli said, casting her eyes heavenward. “Go on, before you are too _very_ late.”

* * *

 

James slipped inside through the West entrance, not by the grand South staircase where he would be noticed. It was easy, once he found himself among the crowd with all their finery and laughter, to become among them. He had practice in letting himself go, in becoming not himself. He returned now, to this pattern, and let the training of his past take over. He played the role of a gentleman as an actor might. He almost believed it himself.

Soon enough, he caught sight of Steve. He was preparing for the first dance with Miss Carter. It was not jealousy that overcame James, not possessiveness, nor any sense of belonging. It was only desire that moved James’s feet and drove him to stand next to Steve in the vacant space, though no lady agreed to dance next to him.

James whispered into Steve’s ear as he stepped into his space, “What an excellent party you have thrown, Mr. Rogers.” The wide eyed look of surprise that greeted him was perhaps worth all of his trouble.

“Sir!” Steve said, careful to avoid his name, James noticed. “What—“

“It is good to see you, too,” said James. “Forgive my coming without an invitation. I could not stay away.” He watched Steve’s surprise soften into an expression that James recognized from his own face and felt that his infraction would be forgiven.

The dance began and James was faced with another distinct and more immediate trouble. He had not asked anyone to dance with him. Across from him he found an unfamiliar face. She was fairer than Miss Carter, to her right, but she shared her slender nose, her large eyes, her cunning expression. Their similarities were unmistakable.

“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of an introduction,” said James as they approached one another in time to the tune.

“No, sir. We have not.” She said, before backing away again. “My cousin said you would not object to an unknown dance partner.” She said upon the return.

“Not at all.” James said, “You do me a great honor.”

James returned to the line, next to Steve’s side. He was so close he could feel the heat radiating from him, he felt the brush of his hand as they traded places. As they locked eyes, turning around one another, it felt as if they were dancing only with each other. James caught his breath and returned his attention to his partner across from him as he returned to his place.

“I was in need of an escape, you see.” The lady said, as they met in the middle and turned about each other.

“An escape from what, miss?” Asked James.

“I was engaged in conversation with a dreadful boor. It is the worst fate at a party such as this. Often, the dance is the only refuge one can take.”

“You are very free with your criticism, madam.” James said, with a smile. “I hope you shan’t be so harsh with me when we are done.”

“No sir. I have seen nothing to criticize.”

The dance ended and James bowed to his partner. He turned to Steve and saw in his eyes something he could not name—an expression beyond anger, beyond want. He was overcome by incendiary, frantic need in the most profound way and James could see it spilling over like an overfilled cup. With all the dignity that could be mustered, Steve turned, straight backed and took even step after even step out of the hall, through the familiar corridors of the Shield. James followed him, as if every step were preordained.

They reached Steve’s private quarters, which were silent. The sounds of the ball were a memory, and the friends and strangers were long forgotten so many floors and doors away. James imagined himself locked up here, to be shut away while the rest of the ball was enjoyed and tried to resign himself to his fate when Steve fixed his gaze upon him again.

“Mr. Rogers, I—“ He began, but he was silenced before the explanations for his actions issued forth. He was pressed against the door, the full weight of Steve against him as the lips he had so often admired caressed his own again, just as they had in the woods so many weeks ago.

James nearly managed to convince himself it had been more than a memory, a game, something not worth dwelling upon, but the moment he felt Steve again, he was lost to the touch, to the feeling of him. He felt it all the way down to his bones and if he never felt anything else he could be resigned to such a fate.

 


	8. In Which Steve Has an Unexpected Guest and Asks a Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All! I have returned from my sudden break in the writing of this fic. Thanks for sticking with me if you have. I am forever grateful and you have my love. 
> 
> You might have noticed the rating went up! There is a somewhat explicit sex scene here. It ends after the line of asterisks and the solid line.

Possessed by a madness he could not contain, Steve fled from the ballroom toward sanctuary with James behind him. Perhaps he meant to protect James from the danger of discovery. Or, perhaps instead he felt anger at the betrayal of a carefully laid plan. It may have been another thing altogether; perhaps Steve’s own need for privacy drove him from the room as if the devil were on his heels.

It was no devil, Steve thought as the soles of his shoes clicked against the floor while the cacophony of the ballroom faded behind him. It was only James who pursued Steve, but that was enough to quicken his steps.

Once they reached Steve’s rooms, Steve was overcome by another need. He was compelled to run toward, rather than to run away. He turned on his heel when they reached the privacy of Steve’s quarters to face James, leaning casually against the door as if he had not a care in the world. There he found James’s face just as he remembered it, but framed by a stranger’s frocks, an unfamiliar carriage and baring. He was, to anyone but the closest of associates, a different man.

Steve found himself with the desire to unmask his friend for the man he was. He wanted his James, not this stranger who stood before him. He strode forward with confidence he could not claim with truth and locked the door, face only inches away from the other man’s. It was in this proximity that he found James’s true nature. It was in the shiver of his breath, the searching dart of eyes to lips, collar, down, and back again, and in the way his hands reached out but retracted before they made contact. All of these movements spoke louder than any voice.

He pressed closer still and closed his eyes. The touch of lips to lips was as loud as the slamming of a door. The movements forward were directed entirely by James’s hand, and Steve felt himself lost to the control of him. He was obliged to step back, to give into his command, and when James drew away, he chased his lips for more.

“Why did you come back?” He asked, when they parted, gasping.

“You know why.” James said. Indeed, Steve knew.

Steve stepped back again at James’s insistence and found himself against his writing desk. The knot of his cravat was worked open with deft hands and buttons were slid open to reveal the neck that James worshiped with kisses. Steve leaned his head back and whispered prayers to no one in particular. He hoped, in this moment, that God would turn his eye from their sins.

James pulled away to meet Steve’s eyes. He expected to see humor or hunger. Instead, in them he saw a longing equal only to his own. It was unbearable, and so Steve did the only thing he could, he unlaced his breeches with trembling fingers, inaccurate in their swiftness and need for contact.

The chore of undressing became an obstacle that was completed in half-steps. James untied Steve’s cravat further, but only enough to attach his lips to the skin freshly revealed to him and slipped button after button from his coat. His hands sliding along Steve’s sides, up and under his shirt while he licked and sucked along the shell of Steve’s ear.

It was fire inside of Steve’s veins to feel such goodness in something so forbidden, so terrible it could never be spoken of. Yet, in this moment, Steve was compelled to say—

“James!” in a hoarse cry that drew James’s lips back to his own.

The impact of body against body threw Steve into his writing desk. He caught himself with blind hands, his papers strewn across the floor, careless as their master in the moment of passion. Steve lifted himself upon the desk and drew James in between his spread legs to feel him further. He felt the touch of James’s hands against his thighs, bare and smooth, so exposed to the elements around them. And then James was upon him and he could feel nothing else but his touch. Steve’s head fell back again, mouth open in a silent, ecstatic cry; relief, at last, at this touch so long awaited.

“Steve,” James said in an aimless way as if he had no goal except to feel the name in his mouth. Steve allowed his head to fall forward and rest upon James’s shoulder as James’s hand moved with slow persistence up and down along the shaft of his cock. His fingers made a loose circle around Steve, so that he hardly felt the pressure until he grew into it, swelling in James’s hand. His own hands tightened in the fabric of James’s sleeves and he wished to beg.

Begging was something Steve was unaccustomed to. He would not lower himself to such baseness now, even in such a compromising position as this. Instead, he took an offensive measure, drawing James forth from his trousers and exacting the same type of torture—bliss, perhaps, Steve thought—on him. Steve drew back to watch the effect the movements of his hand had on James.

Far from falling apart, as Steve had done at the slightest brush of contact, James carried on with his lips and brow in an expression of amusement. It was as if he had not expected such boldness from his partner. The rise in action pleased him like a clever joke might. Steve was inspired to persist. He wanted to show James that he was not afraid of such behavior, and that he could conduct himself just as well as any man—as long as James didn’t twist his hand quite so. Steve’s breathing was shallow, his eyes fluttering on their own accord.

“You are easy sport.” James said with the causal nature of one commenting about the weather. “I might never have guessed you were an officer in the army. A man well-traveled. Of such fortune.” Between each descriptor, he placed a kiss for emphasis.

“Should these things make me more difficult to please?” Steve asked, trying to match James’s tone and failing in his efforts. “Oh—Oh, James, wait to answer that, I beg you. I cannot converse now.” Lost to the sensation, Steve admitted defeat. He would suffer James’s smugness tomorrow, in the meantime, he must allow their activities to conclude in their inevitable way.

“Then I suppose I must occupy my mouth some other way.” James said.

The warmth, exquisite in both its captivating nature and the way it propelled Steve all the way out of himself, and the way James moved his mouth were all that Steve needed. He was without hope of restraining himself. There was no composure to be had in this moment, only the need to feel this moment in its entirety, and so he did. Steve tried, hands grasping at shoulders, at James face, to signal.

“Ja—James.” Steve said in a voice that was broken and wild. It was too late. He spilled forth and James did nothing to discourage him until the moment had run its course. Only after Steve fell back to rest upon his elbows on the desk, mouth open and gasping, did James ascend from the floor at his feet. “I apologize,” Steve said, meaning it as much as was possible while he still glowed from James’s efforts.

“You mustn’t.” James scolded him. “It was my pleasure. And besides, I have still not had all of what I came here for,” He stepped closer still, so that they were touching everywhere it was possible to be, and Steve glanced down to see that James was still flushed and hard. “Would you like to know how you taste?” He whispered. Steve nodded as James leaned in and discovered that he would enjoy anything so long as it was on James’s tongue. James found his own release not long after Steve took him in his arms. It was the embrace, the kiss, the sensation of Steve’s fingers along his sides, moving up and down that spurred him through.

When they were done, James pressed one last kiss to Steve’s parted lips, this one considerably more chaste than the last. Steve blinked at him, mouth closing into a resolute expression, his eyes clearing as if a storm had passed.

“Alright” Steve said, face still flushed a deep crimson, breath still coming in waves as he clutched James to him to steady himself. He glanced around at the papers strewn across the floor. They could be set right later. “You have had your way now. Are you satisfied?”

James shared a certain knowing look with him, just as he did when he had a winning hand of cards.

“You made sure of that.” James said.

“I must return to the ball. My absence will be noted sooner or later. Will you be content to stay here, if I leave you now?”

 

 

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Secure in the knowledge that James would be locked away safely in Steve’s own private quarters, far from prying eyes, Steve made himself presentable in the most careful way and fixed himself to return. He had not been gone for as long as he believed. His whole escapade with James felt like a world-shifting event. It had only been a half an hour at most, all told. When he returned, the ball was nearly as he had left it, only the dancers had changed position on the floor.

“Steve!” Mr. Stark said, grabbing his arm the moment he arrived in the hall and pressing a glass into his empty hand. Steve took it gratefully, the cool drink a welcome balm for his nerves. “How was your dance?”

“My—dance?” Steve asked, feeling the guilt bloom across his cheeks.

“That girl, the Carter one. Is that her cousin?”

“Yes. The miss carters are quite gentle creatures, but Tony, where is Mrs. Stark? You’re forgetting yourself.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Tony brushed him off as if his admonishment was beyond the absurd and that he had never once been caught with a wandering eye, nor hand. “I simply wondered how soon you intended to begin courting Miss Carter. You do intend to woo her, do you not?”

“Oh, I—“

“Because the ball is a good beginning, but you’ll need to branch out more than this to win the affections of a woman such as her.” Stark said, leaning in to Steve with a conspiratorial grin. Against his better judgement, Steve humored Tony.

“And what do you suggest?”

“Well,” Tony said. “I saw a trend among those with land and title when I was away. It was absurd, to be sure, but the best kind of diverting fun.” Tony smiled as if Steve were already in on the experience and leaning in still further, he said the word as if it were the answer to all of Steve’s problems, “Hermits.”

“Er—What?” Steve asked.

“Purely ornamental. Sometimes entertaining. Meant to tell fortunes or to give sage advice for the master of the house and his friends. Simply employ a man who can grow an impressive beard and instruct him not to have any interaction with the outside world in order to preserve his mysterious nature. Pay him a stipend and supply him with anything he may need. There you have it! Your own hermit.”

“And why has this become the fashion?” asked Steve.

“Why does anything? Because rich men will always find something unnecessary on which to spend their money and their friends will always want better, more ridiculous improvements upon whatever that thing might be.”

“You think finding myself a hermit will help me to woo Miss Carter?” Steve asked doubtfully.

“What lady doesn’t want a mysterious fortune teller on her grounds to entertain her friends whenever she chooses? It’s a novelty, Steve.” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes as if this should be the most obvious thing in the world, then leaned close, clapping a hand solidly in the middle of Steve’s chest. “Not to mention,” Stark murmured in his ear, “it would help you with another delicate situation, if you take my meaning.”

“Yes, Tony, you’re hardly subtle.” Steve said, placing both hands on Mr. Stark’s shoulders and setting him right again. Tony gave a rather unsteady wobble and Steve placed his arm out to catch him. “Perhaps we ought to find you a seat.”

“Gentlemen.” Said Mrs. Stark, glittering and golden, swooping in with her impeccable timing and her smile in place as always. Steve believed he had never met a woman so perfectly brought up, so comfortable in society, as the new Mrs. Stark, formerly Miss Potts. That she should have settled for a life with Steve’s dear friend when she could have been a duchess, made Steve believe in all the romantic fairytales of his youth.

“Oh, you’re not leaving, I trust.” Chimed a voice, approaching from behind Steve. He turned to see Miss Carter.

“Indeed, I think we had better.” Said Mrs. Stark. “My husband is likely to make me regret his vices if we stay.”

“I’ll attend church on Sunday if it please the missus,” said Mr. Stark, his arm pulling Mrs. Stark closer to him, leaning in to speak into her ear, “but that shall make me sin no less.”

“And with that we shall certainly be leaving. I apologize, Mr. Rogers, for my husband.” Mrs. Stark said, her face glowing three shades redder than when she bid them good evening.

“Please, it is I who ought to offer my condolences. You are the one who must go home with him, after all.” Steve said and with a merry goodnight, he bid them adieu.

 

It was only after the departure of Mr. Stark that Steve realized the lateness of the hour. They had reached the small hours of the morning, when the activities of the revelers became the fuzzy mysteries of memory, left up to tomorrow’s guesswork. He felt a loving glow for his friends and the anxiety in his own belly softened. The worry for James settled in the back of his head where it always lived as his constant guest, much like James, himself.

An arm weaved itself through his own with grace and gentleness. Steve turned to see its owner and found Miss Carter’s face. She was as composed as ever, despite the boldness of her action.

“Will you accompany me for a walk, Miss Carter?” Steve asked.

“I believe we have some things to discuss, don’t we?” She said. Miss Sharon began to follow them out into the garden, because it was only proper for her to do so. They needed a chaperone, unless Mr. Rogers intended to propose.

A late garden walk at a ball would have been the perfect place to propose, after all.

And then it became apparent to Steve that this was what he must do if he was to secure James’s freedom and keep any suspicion from falling upon him. People already believed him strange for being a bachelor for so long, after all.

He addressed Miss Sharon as politely as he could while the blood drained from him.

“Miss Sharon, may I ask you to remain here, please. I would like to speak to Miss Carter alone, please.”

Miss Sharon looked taken aback for a moment, then her eyebrows rose in a knowing expression.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Rogers.” She said, with a short curtsy.

Steve could feel Miss Carter’s hand tighten on his arm, but her stride was steady as they made their way into the garden. Once they were out of earshot and carefully alone, Steve spoke freely.

“You saw him here?” Steve asked. He saw Miss Carter’s frame relax instantly.

“Yes, Steve. I saw him. It is a miracle that no one else did. At least, we must hope that we were alone in identifying him.”

“Yes. We must hope.” Steve said. “He will not be swayed from my side, and nor I from his. I believe I may have discovered a solution for the time being that will save him from discovery, but I must ask something of you, my friend.”

“I believed it may come to this.” Miss Carter said.

“And your answer?” Steve asked, and to his surprise, he realized that he was clinging to her words like he clung to life itself. He loved Peggy. It was not a love that he felt for James—and yes, he did love him, that secret part in his mind could only whisper the word—but he felt love for Peggy the way he loved the mother who he knew only in memory. He loved Peggy as a sister. He would cherish her and provide for her all the days of her life if only she would permit him to.

“I ask only that I be permitted the running of my household.” She said, after a long silence with a calculating expression in her gaze.

“You mean the continued employment of your servants?”

“Angie.”

“Of course.” Steve said. He had never considered separating the two.

“Then we are agreed.” She offered her hand, and he shook it. They were engaged and James was safer.


	9. In Which James is Enlightened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a turbulent week for our fandom. In light of this, let's have a cup of tea and some Regency AU fic. I love you all.

James spent the remainder of the ball torn between nervous agitation and delight. He reeled from all that had transpired with Captain Rogers, the lingering impressions of his touch still burning on his skin. Neither the boldness of his actions, nor the risk he took in remaining at the Shield seemed too great when he considered the reward that was Steve’s kiss, which he still tasted upon his lips when he cared to recall it.

James made his way through the master’s private quarters in all their sweeping decadence, to the bedroom and fell upon the bed there. These rooms, he noted as he went, were not too opulent. For a man of such wealth, it would be no small thing to bedeck one’s rooms in all the silks and furs and jewels that could be imagined. This was not Steve’s way, James considered, as he gazed upon the room from the pillows that smelled in a comforting way of the man who occupied James’s every thought this hour.

He dozed, and as he did so, his thoughts drifted. He did not think endlessly about the empty spaces in his mind where his memories faded into darkness. Nor did James ponder the ominous presence of the militia in the sleepy town of Steventon. Instead, James thought only of Steve, and he was at peace with his mind.

“James?” He was roused from a sleep he had not realized he had fallen into by the faint call of his name from another room. “James?” Another time, closer and with more worry.

“Here!” He called back. Steve entered his room, the traces of anxiety swept away by the sight of James in his bed.

“You are well?” Steve asked. “No trouble after I left you, then?”

“Quite well. Perhaps more well than you will be in a few hour’s time.” James said, considering the merry flush of Steve’s cheeks.

“I kept my wits about me.” Steve said as he removed his boots and coat and threw himself into bed otherwise clothed. James smiled up at the man now leaning over him slightly and felt himself overcome by passion for the second time in a night. He pulled Steve toward him and felt the kiss wash upon him like a wave breaking over the beach. Steve drew away to speak.

“First, we must discuss—“

“Is there danger?” James asked.

“With you, there is always danger it seems.” Steve said, shaking his head.

“Then let us discuss the matter later.”

“I am afraid we cannot. You may feel differently after I have told you all that has happened tonight.”

Steve then explained all that he could about his friendship with the Carters. He spoke of Miss Carter’s unique understanding of his life and about her own (though he could not divulge her secrets any more than she would divulge his own). Steve explained how the town was sure that they would be married one day, and that he saw in this a unique chance to protect James’s whereabouts. All the while, James listened with patience.

“So, you are engaged, then.” James said with calm sobriety.

“I am.” Steve said.

“I apologize, sir.” James said, withdrawing himself from the tangle of limbs and sheets that had enveloped him as he lay in this bed that did not belong to him. He found his boots, shoved them roughly on, and drew himself up to his full height. It was an effort to maintain the dignity that he had gained during his stay in this home, but he clung to it now as a drowning man would cling to a raft. “Please accept my congratulations.” He said. He left before the prickle behind his nose could betray him for tears.

The moment he vacated Steve’s quarters, he composed himself. There was no safety here for him anymore. He was without protection now that he had played his hand and lost. It was a terrible truth that he suffered emotions, he thought as he set one foot down before the other, in a mechanical fashion like the tick of a clock.

On his journey back to his rooms, which had never felt so long as this, he found Miss Romanov. She supervised the other maids as they saw to sweeping away any reminder that the night had occurred. How he wished he could do the same!

“Sir,” She said with her brow raised in a telling arch.

“Madam.” James inclined his head and continued upon his way, back to solitude.

He let out a long, unwavering sigh as he heard her following, close upon his heels like a terrier with a scent. She would not leave him be until she had what she wanted. He continued to his room, leaving her free to follow as she wished, and follow she did.

“Yes?” He asked when they reached the privacy of his quarters.

“You do not have the measure of him.” Miss Romanov said, with none of her dry wit. She fixed him, instead, with a firm and piercing look and held him to the spot with it. He felt as if she could see all that had transpired in that one look and James was left speechless.

“Do not be so quick to judge the merit of the man,” Miss Romanov went on “by a choice he made without your input. His reasons are his own.”

“How do you know of this?” James asked.

“You know little of maids.” Miss Romanov said, and with that, her omniscience was forever established in James’s mind, her mysterious all-knowing nature confirmed. James knew little of God and believed less, but in Miss Romanov, James believed with every certainty.

“Does he love her?” James asked.

“They played as children. He owes her family all the love he lost with his own. He loves her, James, never doubt it.” Miss Romanov said while James felt his heart sink. He felt her fingers catch his chin with the lightest touch and brought his eyes up to meet hers. “It does not mean that he loves us less. It does not mean that he loves _you_ less. He is extraordinary in that regard, and many others.”

James expelled a mirthless laugh and smiled for her sake though it did not reach the corners of his eyes. He took in her words and knew the truth of them, but he was not ready to feel them yet.

“Does this mean I must expand my jealousy to you as well, my friend?” He asked her. She shook her head and met his smile with one of her own, not quite true, but honest in its own way.

“I do a great many things well, and even more things exceptionally well. Love, however, is not one of them.”

“I see.” James said. He could tell from her expression that the matter was closed.

“I must return to the staff. Lord knows they will have misplaced half the silver and rehung the portraits upside down by now.” She said, rolling her eyes as she made for the door.

“Miss Romanov—“ James said. She turned, and as she did, he realized that he did not know what he wanted to say. The words stopped in his throat, he made a short bow, which she returned, and left him alone to his thoughts again.

 

Despite his talk with Miss Romanov, which dulled the sting of disappointment, James felt that he would shatter if he was compelled to see Steve. He avoided mealtimes and the places where the man was most likely to be. That meant that the library which he adored so much was off limits to him. He confided himself instead to the stables.

The horses brought something back to him: A feeling of safety, of home. There were pieces missing in the foggy cloud of James’s mind, but here in the dim light, surrounded by these powerful beasts, there was comfort.

Winter was his favorite. A stallion of grey shot through with streaks of purest white, he was the steadiest of the lot. It was easy to sit in the silence with the great horse and feel the companionship between them. Perhaps it was because he smuggled apples down from the kitchens that Winter liked him back, but James felt sure that the feeling was mutual.

“You haven’t gotten married, have you?” James asked as he stepped upon the soft straw and into the merciful dimness of the barn. Winter snorted in his stall at the sight of James and it was as good an answer as any. James gave a weak chuckle, despite himself. He took the knife and apple from his pocket and gave half of it to Winter.

“He’s got every right, you know. We’re lucky to be kept here.” He looked around the barn and leaned against the wall of Winter’s stall. “I see why he keeps you around, old boy. You, he’s got a reason for.” James took the brush from where it stood and brushed Winter’s coat. He spoke no more to the horse, feeling foolish enough as it was, but he felt that he had been understood in some way.

A crunch of feet in the straw floor alerted James to an intrusion to his privacy. He started and peered out from Winter’s stall. In this state, unkempt, ruffled and his face red with emotion, he could easily pass for a stable boy. He felt the jolt of unpreparedness all the same. The intruder was a woman, however, and he felt himself calm as he heard the swish of her skirts among the stalls.

“Hello?” Called a familiar voice.

“Is that Miss Carter?” James called back.

He was met where he stood by Miss Carter, herself who arrived in answer to the question. It was her, indeed, looking every bit as remarkable as she had when they first met, though markedly more tired.

“I hear that I must offer my congratulations.” James said. The bitterness was plain on his tongue, though he fought against it. He wished no ill on Miss Carter.

“You must not do anything at all, sir.” She said. “You met Angie, of course. She gave me a full report of her assistance to you upon my return home.” James recalled Miss Carter’s maid, her good nature and abundant kindness. He could hardly bare it if she had suffered consequences for helping him to arrive at the ball.

“Please, Miss Carter, she did nothing that I did not ask of her. I will return the clothes that were borrowed. I beg you not to punish her for my arrival here last night—“ James was stopped by her gentle laughter.

“Mr. Barnes, please, I have no intention of punishing darling Angie. Quite the contrary. She is coming with me to the Shield.”

“I am delighted to hear it. She did nothing wrong.” James said.

“That is quite true,” Miss Carter said, “I instructed her to send you here last night.”

James failed to hide his astonishment, which played across his face with a great lack of subtlety. Miss Carter sank down upon a wooden stool with the appearance of a woman overcome with frustration.

“Oh, Mr. Barnes, can you really be so entirely without comprehension? My Angie is for me as you are for Mr. Rogers. It is the kind of thing that we must leave unsaid but understood. This is why we must marry. It is for the best, because we may not _have_ the best! Do you understand? I may not be more frank than this.”

The barn all but rang in the silence of her proclamation. James wished to run to her side and pledge eternal loyalty for her candor and trust. He wished to run directly to Steve and apologize for his misunderstanding. He wished for the world to be a kinder, different world in which they each could have whom they chose without barrier. Instead, he stood in the silence, overcome by the fear that washed over him in the wake of Miss Carter’s honesty.

“I understand.” James said, at last. In a voice no more than a whisper, he found it in him to say, “Thank you, Miss Carter.”


	10. In which men speak and a shadow moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of an unwelcome visitor travels to the Shield while Steve wrestles with his choice to propose to Miss Carter and forever change his relationship with James. He seeks guidance from friends, servants, and ultimately his lover.

 

James made no motion to return to Steve, nor to speak to him, nor even to glance in his direction since Steve returned to him after the ball. It was with the heavy weight of his own guilt that he trudged through the halls and about his day, careful not to disturb the man, for he knew that forgiveness would not be extracted by any means but the natural remedy: time.

Time was a torture. Waiting for James to return to his side was a slow agony, and Steve thought he could not contain himself. Instead, he considered all that had transpired over the hectic evening. A marriage at the Shield would be an event. The ball alone was a spectacle which would satisfy the village until Christmas, however Steve knew without the input of Miss Carter, Mrs. Carter, Miss Sharon Carter, all of the other various Miss Carters who would undoubtedly spring from the woodwork now that an engagement had been made official—not to mention Angie, Natasha, Mrs. Stark, Mr. Stark, Miss Hill, and all of the other outside parties whom he was sure would have opinions to consider—that an affair such as a wedding would be an event of such great extravagance. There was no hope that a mere human like Steve could reign it in.

Steve set himself into an armchair which waited lovingly for him, and rested his face in his hands. He made a promise, of course he intended to keep it. He would stand by Peggy against all the foes the world might send against them. Though, as the thought of a wedding loomed, Steve saw the appeal of elopement as he never had before.

“No.” Steve said to himself. “It’s for James.” He doubted James would see it that way.

 

 

News came the next morning of the most disturbing nature. As Steve dressed for his day, Sam had a grim look about him that Steve knew to take seriously. He stood still, watching his man as he adjusted the collar of his shirt and considered the probability of the matter being a frivolous thing. The odds were none to none. It was never something frivolous when it came to Sam. He was a discerning fellow, if ever there was one.

“Out with it, if you please, Sam. Whatever troubles you must not weigh on you alone.” Steve said.

“Sir, that is just the trouble. It weighs on many of us. I have had it from Natasha, who got the news from the stable boy, who got it from the mailman, who got it from at least three sources upon the way, that our town is to play host to even more military fellows of some note.” Sam said all this with no note of panic in his voice, for he was well adjusted to all types and flavors of crisis. However, he did speak as a man preparing for battle.

Steve took in the news with only a deep breath and a slight nod of his head.

“Among these men will be a gentleman by the rank and name of General Ross.”

At this, Steve paled. He had heard of this man who had no regard for regulations. He knew him by reputation. It was the understanding among all who had served with him and those who had reason to speak with them that General Ross was lacking in any kind of morality or honor. Steve felt the blood rush back to his face and filled with anger at the very thought of being forced to host such an abominable man.

“Thank you, Sam.” Steve said. “We shall greet him as befits his station.”

  

* * *

 

 

Sam nodded and continued to dress Steve.

Later that day, Steve paid a visit to Tony’s home. He was greeted by Mrs. Stark who swept him into the house with all of her swift, perfect courtesy. She had the tea called up and for a moment, looking into her composed, waiting face, he felt as if things might turn out alright.

“Ah, Steve. To what do we owe this surprise? Here to tell me all the things I did to embarrass myself at your ball, perhaps?” said Tony.

“For once, I am not here to embarrass you.” Steve said. “Perhaps you have heard that one General Ross is expected in Steventon in the next few days?”

From the look of interest shared between Mr. and Mrs. Stark, it was evident that they had not yet heard this news. Steve considered how much he ought to reveal in the presence of Mrs. Stark. She was, without a doubt, a source of goodness, and she was as devoted to her husband as any woman had ever been. He did not know how likely she would be to keep a secret, however, if it meant turning against the law.

“I met him once, several years ago, when I was newly out.” She said. There was not a trace of embarrassment or shyness hiding in her words. As Mr. Stark had no qualms in flirting with any skirt that caught his attention, Mrs. Stark had no worries in shedding light upon any shadow that may lurk in her past. They were both unashamed. Steve admired them this trait.

“Go on.” Steve requested. He hoped to gain any knowledge of the man’s character from a credible source.

“He was too full of himself.” She said. Next to her, Tony stifled a laugh. “Not like you—you’re honest in your bigheadedness. Ross cannot take a joke at his own expense, cannot laugh about his own less desirable qualities or faults. He will not consider that he even has them. His company was perfectly intolerable. I was quite happy when he was called away.”

“My dear, you speak quite harshly of the man.” Said Tony in some surprise.

“And I thank you, Mrs. Stark,” Said Steve. “If it is Pepper’s inclination to berate the general so, even when he is not here to defend himself, then I am quite certain that all the rumors I have heard of him are true.”

“You are a good judge of character, darling.” Mr. Stark said to his wife.

“Perhaps not.” She considered the ring on her hand in a loving way, “I did marry you after all, my dear.”

Steve watched them with appreciation, the way that he so often did. He enjoyed the way they volleyed their verbal jabs back and forth over an invisible net. It was a sweet kind of game that had gone on through their years of courtship, and Steve had been privileged to witness it all. It was only now that he felt an unusual twinge of envy as he observed them.

“Do forgive me for disappearing as suddenly as I came.” Steve said, standing so quickly his head rushed with the movement. “I must retreat and begin battle plans.”

“Oh, I had hoped you would stay,” said Mrs. Stark. “We have not yet approached a subject that I was most eager to discuss. Steve realized at once that he had not yet broached the topic of his engagement with his friends, perhaps an oversight on his part.

“Do forgive me,” Steve said, “There are matters which must be attended to first before I begin sharing the news with others in any official way.”

“Why!” Cried Tony, “So above board and rule-abiding! I can’t imagine so many reasons for shying away from a glass of champagne.”

“My friend, I promise to return for your congratulations and champagne at another time. Perhaps when it is not morning, and when I have better reason to celebrate.” He said, with enough weight in his words that Tony met his gaze with understanding.

“Perhaps that is for the best,” agreed Tony and he let the matter rest.

When Steve left the Starks he knew two things: The first was that General Ross was just as great an opponent as he suspected. He would have to work hard not to arouse suspicions of James’s true nature. This would take a good deal of work and subterfuge, he imagined.

The second thing, was that Steve’s impending marriage would be just as much a spectacle as he feared and that he would not be able to sweep any of it under the rug. By asking Miss Carter to marry him, he had turned a great spotlight upon himself and his home, making it doubly difficult to hide any goings on.

  

* * *

 

 

He found James at the edge of the pond, staring into nothingness with the look of one pondering a great question, when fate saw fit to bring them together at last. James made no stirring to acknowledge the intrusion upon his privacy, but let Steve stand quietly at his side for some time in the stillness of the morning air.

“She is a very fine woman.” James said, still looking ahead. A fish disturbed the surface of the water to catch its breakfast.

“Let us not speak of her qualities, though they are many.” Steve said.

“What would you have me speak of instead?” James asked.

“Your lodgings.”

James turned to face Steve. His look was not cold but instead a desperate one that Steve felt unable to bear. He felt small and wished for nothing but to touch James, if only his hand. It would be the easiest thing to simply hold him.

“Shall I pack my things?”

“No! No, please,” said Steve, taking a step toward him as if pulled by some imaginary string, “It is my wish that you should stay as long as you wish. There are matters that must be discussed, however, if you will listen.” James inclined his head, his expression softened, and so Steve pursued the conversation.

“Have you any dealings with a General Ross in your past?” asked Steve.

“That name is unfamiliar to me,” said James, with a shake of his head.

“Nor have I, but I know him by reputation, and he is not a man I have any interest in knowing.”

A dark expression grew over James’s complexion and his eyes grew distant. He looked out over the water, across to the trees and beyond. He gazed to a life that Steve’s wildest speculations could only touch upon. He longed to know his thoughts.

“And me?” asked James. His voice was strong, but quiet. “What are your designs?”

“The wedding is to be so grand it will be a mockery of a wedding.” Steve said. James scoffed.

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“It isn’t, nor is it like Miss Carter. The point is distraction.” Said Steve, pleased to hear a quiet sound of understanding from James.

“You mean to give the General and his men something else to look at?”

“Exactly.”

“And I will make my move out of town when they are watching the festivities.”

Overcome with frustration, Steve’s threw himself bodily onto James and wrestled him to the ground. It was a testament to James’s trust in his company and Steve’s impulsiveness that he was so caught off guard. Even with such training as Steve had, he surely could not have bested James in a brawl unless he was given the element of surprise.

Pinned on the ground such as he was, James could only look into Steve’s eyes with bewilderment and search for answers.

“How many times must I ask you not to leave?” Steve asked.

James’s response came from his mouth, but not with words. The kiss was as sudden and as passionate as Steve’s request. In a matter of heartbeats, the movement of limbs that moved on their own accord on instinct alone, James found himself on top.

“Tell me what you want.” James said.

A battle raged between Steve’s mind and the instincts which demanded satisfaction in that instant. He knew what he wanted, but to give voice to those thoughts was a challenge he could not accommodate. There were more important things that needed to be attended to. He took a breath and closed his eyes. It was easier to clear his mind when he was not looking at James’s expectant face just inches above his own.

“Come with me.” Steve said. He found his footing again and began the walk around the lake and through the trees.

 

“This?” James finally asked, dumbfounded, when they reached their destination. They stood, slightly out of breath, at the mouth of the cave that James himself had brought Steve to not so long before.

“Yes.” Steve said. “It’s yours.”

“I don’t understand.”

“To have outfitted as you wish, and to use as long as you desire.” Steve said. “There are some gentlemen that Tony described to me who have taken to employing hermits to live on their land. If you choose, you could use that as a convenient story for your residence here. I would require nothing from you in exchange.”

“My confusion is only increased.”

“The wedding will attract more attention to my home. I refuse to leave you without a place to go. I can provide you with comfort, food, and all the amenities you may require as my—“ he paused for a moment to consider the word—“hermit. You will not be abandoned.”

“You are a ridiculous creature of opulence, sir.” James burst forth, though he could not stifle the laugh that flew from him as well. “So I am to leave your home, but to remain a part of it. You wish me to stay, but you will build me my own quarters away from you. You are to marry Miss Carter, but you still want me—“ James was here broken off in his musings by Steve’s lips pressed firmly against his own.

“Make no mistake, James. I want you.” Steve said. Forehead pressed against forehead they stayed close to one another in that moment.

“Then have me.” James said. He pushed Steve back, step by careful step to the wall of the cave. Their lips collided and neither Steve nor James could deny the need that descended upon them both. It was as if nothing done in the secrecy of that space could follow them. They were protected. They could be honest, and so they took what they wanted without shame and without asking.

Steve allowed himself to be roughly handled, to be pinned against the wall and kissed. He felt for all the world that despite James’s suggestion, in this instance, he was the one being had. He countered and kissed back in equal measure and pushed the jacket from the man’s shoulders. In his mind and the pounding of blood in his veins, there was no time for subtly. Steve would die with the passion in him if he did not satisfy all the desire that coursed through him. If the scrambling fingers at his cravat told true, he could guess that the same thoughts ran wild in James’s head as well.

“What will satisfy you?” James asked.

“Nothing but you.” Steve said in a breath.

“Yes.” James said, his usual teasing cadence returned to his voice. “This has been established. The rock floor is hard, though. You may have noticed that no fine rugs, or upholstery have yet be brought down here to comfort your strange pet hermit. There is not much for us to lie on.”

Steve looked around and allowed his head to fall back against the rock wall with a look of the greatest disappointment on his face.

“Right.” Said he. Then, with the utmost hopeful delight cast upon his countenance so that James could only do as he asked, he said “Hands, then?”

James smiled and shook his head as he stepped closer still. His hands took their place again on Steve and he began his work again of stripping off only the necessary garments.

When they were finished, their faces flushed hot from the exertion and looks of accomplishment on each of their faces, Steve took James’s hand in his own and regarded it with fondness.

“If I could place the ring here, It would already be on your hand.”

“Please.”

“I wish to devote myself to no other.”

“Please. Steve.” Said James again, his voice weaker, almost cracked.

“If I could—“

“Steve. Don’t. I beg you. Stop.”

“Oh.” Steve’s voice drifted into silence, though their hands remained entwined.


	11. In which The Shield prepares for a wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Labor Day Weekend (if you are in the U.S.)
> 
> All the love and appreciation to Colorfulcandypainter.tumblr for her stunning artwork for this chapter.

* * *

 

The arrival of General Ross himself was greeted by the town with apathy from most. The civilians in Steventon rarely took note of the goings on among the militia. The troops that came with the general, however, turned many heads. This, coupled with the wedding of the wealthy and handsome Captain Rogers to a woman of insignificant social standing had many other women of the town beside themselves to gain attention from other attractive, eligible officers of note.

The captain, however, had no knowledge of the situation unfolding right outside of his door. He was more concerned about the battle raging inside of his own home.

“Must there be so much talk of flowers?” he asked, “I feel I have stepped into a botanical garden the moment I leave my study. Natasha, I beg you, throw them all outside. The ones that survive the longest without water shall be the winners.”

“Captain, in battle, you may direct the troops. In a wedding, however, I shall decide where our soldiers march. Natasha, if you please, I have decided upon violets. Violets for the bouquet, to match the cake,” said Miss Carter.

“Of course,” said Natasha, and whisked a basket of flowers away, making sure to sweep them under Steve’s nose on the way out.   

“How is Sam?” asked Miss Carter. “Are things going alright?” they spoke in vague words about Sam and only Sam when not cloistered in private rooms. It was safest that way.

“I ought to check on him,” Steve said. “Do you know when your cousins arrive?”

“By tomorrow evening, I expect.” Peggy took Steve’s arm and walked with him to the parlor.

“The Shield has not been host to so many in years. I can hardly remember the last time so many rooms were full. We shall become a hotel at this rate.”

“It will be quite empty soon enough dear. Not all the Carters are moving in.”

“I do not complain,” said Steve, “it is refreshing in its own way.”

“I expect you will go riding now,” Peggy asked. Steve only nodded and glanced at the clock. His horse would be saddled already. “See you for tea then,” with a kiss upon her cheek, he was out the door and down to the stables.

 

* * *

 

 

The cave had been transformed. What was once bare rock was now a lavish home, dressed in dense fabric and furs to keep the chill out. Exquisite strings of beads, crystals, and glowing lamps hung around the interior to give an ambiance of mystery. Most unique of all was the man who sat inside this hut. He wore an expression of knowledge behind eyes which gave no quarter to the soul who gazed upon them. His clothes were odd, pieced together from far corners of the world, neither fine nor tattered. He was a lived-in being and a well-lived one. He had seen the world and as such, he could see through the world.

“I have a gift for you,” Steve said when he arrived at the cave and drew the curtain back to enter. He threw the small leather bag toward the hermit who caught it without looking and withdrew the token.

“An eyepatch?” he asked. It was soft black leather with a white eye painted onto it. “I think this may be a bit much.”

“Fury sent it,” said Steve.

“You trust him?”

“With my life.” said Steve, taking in the hermit’s face with the addition of the eyepatch. No matter what they tried—the stubble, the clothes, the eyepatch—each accessory or change made Steve want him more, not less. “Have you thought of a name yet?”

“My name is Bucky,” he said. Steve let the name sit in his mind, considered the weight of the name, how it framed this man.

“I like it,” Steve said after some time.

“Yes?” Bucky asked.

“I have known many Jameses. I have liked some, some have grated upon my nerves, many have left me with little to think of when I recall them. I have never met a Bucky. You are the only one.” Without knowledge of how it happened, he realized that his hand was brushing against Bucky’s. He felt himself drawn toward the other man, irresistibly and undeniably.

Just then, the curtain was pulled back again. A sharp burst of light was cast upon them both from the world outside. Sam stepped inside. He carried with him a sack stuffed nearly to bursting. Steve could smell the ripe juices of fruit from within.

“I brought you enough for a good few days. You shouldn’t have to go sneaking up there where any one might notice and I won’t need to bring you more than would attract attention—Oh! Captain. Hello sir,” said Sam, removing his hat when he realized whose company he had intruded upon.

“Good afternoon, Sam.”

“It looks as if the wedding preparations are moving along well,” said Sam “although I would feel better if I could see to you during this time.”

“It gets cold out here, is what he’s saying,” Bucky said, with a rueful grin.

“Cold doesn’t trouble me,” he sent a sharp look at Bucky. “I am your servant, sir, not his.”

“And I have asked you to see to my guest for the time being, please. I can count on you for your discretion?” Steve’s words were not a question.

“Always, sir.”

“Then that is that,” Steve rose. The cave was so vast that he had no need to stoop. “We must rely on one another. We face a more harrowing and perilous encounter than any I have contemplated before.”

“What, with the General?” Bucky asked.

“My wedding!” said Steve.

 

The guests continued to pour in over the course of the week. The excitement grew from a murmur to an uproar as all of the family Carter settled themselves around the estate. There was enough room to hold them, certainly. Steve could easily house those who did not have rooms of their own at Mr. and Mrs. Carter’s house.

Of Mr. and Mrs. Carter themselves, he was enjoying a renewed familiarity.

“I know enough not to lecture a young man on the night before his own wedding,” said Mr. Carter, standing at the window of Steve’s study with him, “but be righteous enough that Peggy will know nothing of your exploits in the morning, my lad.” Steve drank to the advice.

“Believe me, sir,” said Steve after a sip of scotch, “Peggy would know the moment she stepped into the church if I were anything less than worthy of her and she would turn around and march back out again.”

“I don’t have to believe you. I know so myself,” said Mr. Carter. A knock at the door interrupted them. Mr. Stark stepped inside, shoes polished and top hat shining to match.

“Well, Captain, are you ready?” Tony asked. He caught sight of the glasses clutched in their hands and a grin split across his face. “Ah, I see you have started without me. Excellent!”

“I hardly think it matters if I am ready or not. You are ready, and that is all that matters with these things”

“Too right you are,” Tony said, grabbing Steve around the shoulders and dragging him to the door, with a look cast over his shoulder to Mr. Carter he said “We will have him back before dawn.”

“I am deeply comforted,” Mr. Carter said, with all the dryness of sarcasm in his tone. He turned away and sipped his scotch.

 

 

Steve sat in the pub with his best man and his friends at his side. They drank to him, sang bawdy songs for him, and told stories that had been told and retold so many times they only resembled truth in the darkest of rooms. Laughter rang from the walls. Steve himself even laughed, although he tolerated the public house when forced.

On this night, he knew it would be ungracious to abandon the festivities. Celebrating his own impending marriage was cause for such camaraderie. He wanted to enjoy this night. The desire did not give way to fact, and when he silenced the voices around him there was only one he wished to hear.

“Alright there, Cap?” Tony asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Steve asked back.

“Don’t ask stupid questions you already know the answer to, my friend,” said Tony as he passed Steve a freshly filled mug.

“I want to see him tonight.”

“Ah, but that’s why I’m here. You get to see me instead.” Tony set his face into its most charming smile. Then burst out laughing. “I’m here to make sure you get into no trouble except the usual kind tonight. Lord knows that’s just what you need. Understand?”

“Here’s to taking my advice from you, Mr. Stark.”

“Here’s to taking my insults from you, Captain Rogers.”

They toasted and drained their cups. Steve was a melancholy man much of the time, but in that moment, he could not help but be overwhelmed by the potential for joy which hung in the air that night.

  

* * *

 

 

Steve woke the next morning in a fog. For one blessed second before he opened his eyes, there was only softness. He felt a strong pair of arms about him, holding him tight. He was held, comforted, and the breath on the back of his neck was warm. The sunlight shone across him, bringing him gently into the world while a lark sang a song like a bell.

Bells.

Oh.

No.

Not that.

He was awake, truly now. The thought of bells rang loudly in Steve’s head, driving away any thoughts but the wedding. He was to be wed. The man in his bed stirred, as if he said these words out loud. Steve turned to find Bucky’s eyes opening. The panic that was building into a thunderstorm inside his mind drifted away to a quiet patter of rain as he looked upon Bucky’s eyes. Such was the effect of his face upon Steve.

“Good morning.” Bucky said.

“It is not so good.” Steve said.

“It is your wedding day,” Bucky chided him. You will be merry if I have to make you so.

“And how do you intend to do that?” Steve asked.

“Like this,” said Bucky, before dashing before the covers. At once Steve was as awake as he had ever been. The pounding inside his head and the whirring of his gut made no difference to him now. Bucky’s head bobbed up and down beneath the covers and Steve drew them up over his own head as well. In the dim light, sheltered from the world, he could nearly hide here.

The sight of Bucky between his legs wrestled all other thoughts from his mind. The feeling of it left any other thoughts behind. Steve was gone in that moment, a pawn to be moved wherever Bucky placed him, and he was grateful that for the moment, Bucky had him exactly where he wanted him. His hands moved up to grip Steve’s hips, preventing the movement he so longed to exact. He needed to thrust upward, to take advantage of the mouth so willingly moving along him. But no, Bucky would not allow it, and here, he was the commander.

Steve fell back. He was captive and the willing subject of this man who bestowed such a gift upon him here. It felt too lavish, even among silk sheets. What had he done to deserve this man? He felt his heart race. His face flushed. His breathing was hurried as if he was racing to the top of a great hill. The pressure built and built, amounting to the inevitable conclusion, which he so desperately desired and yet hoped to put off for one more moment… one more… one…

Steve felt his legs spasm below, a sure sign. He pressed against Bucky’s shoulders, a silent request to stop before it was too late. He made a sound lost somewhere between a sob and a word. It failed him. All of these things only inspired Bucky to redouble his efforts. He was going to achieve this or die in the attempt. Steve was powerless and completely at the mercy of the man between his legs.

When it happened, Steve broke. Bucky swallowed him down and took everything he had to give. He stroked his hip, worked him through to the end, and then rested his head against his belly until Steve’s breathing had settled. It was a simple thing—a good feeling—to rest with a lover in the calm that followed. For Steve, however, there could be no simplicity.

“How did you come to find yourself in my bed?”

“You asked me here.”

“Hmm…” Steve considered it, but had no memory of doing so. He believed that he had. “And did we? I mean to say, have we? I am quite undressed already.” He stumbled over his question, but by Bucky’s laugh, it’s meaning was apparent.

“No. Nothing transpired between us last night. You were quite put out when I rebuffed your advance, but I promised to make it up to you in the morning. I kept my promise just now.”

“I must return the favor,” said Steve.

“No,” said Bucky, “now, you must get married.”

A stone settled into the place where Steve’s heart ought to be. The duty he was bound for replaced itself in his mind. Of course, his life must come back at some point, he only hoped he could keep at playacting for a little while longer. He lifted the cover from above them and sat up straight.

“Thank you,” he said. “You must go now. Can you manage?”

“I have my ways.” Bucky said with a sly grin that Steve did not dare contemplate for too long.


	12. In which a wedding goes awry

The wedding was, indeed, every inch as opulent and outlandish as Bucky expected it to be. He watched from afar as people descended upon the village church to watch the rich army captain get married as if they were attending a long awaited show at the theatre. He was removed from the spectacle and so he could watch with a clear view. He could not tell if this made his job easier or not.

For Bucky had taken on a guardianship of his host in this town, though Steve may have viewed it in quite the opposite way. Bucky felt entirely responsible for the inconveniences thrust upon those at The Shield; from the extra expenses of room and board, to the very fact that Steve and Miss Carter were engaging in this sham wedding at all, to the fact that a whole encampment of soldiers were stationed at the boarder of this town. Bucky was responsible for it all, and he would be damned if he let the one kind place that had sheltered him in all of his hazy memory take any punishment.

Such were the thoughts which Bucky ruminated upon while he watched carriages arrive, one after the other. Guests wore their best. Their garments varied from the usual pretty, modest white cotton Sunday wear, to lavish and fantastic gear laced up in the most fanciful colors and festooned with feathers, beads, pearls, and gems. Bucky smiled to himself. Steve knew how to break rules. He was good at that. Even here at his own wedding, Steve broke all rules of social class and station by marrying a woman so far below him.

Music piped up from the great organ within the church. It was time.

Silence descended. A great hush fell upon those within, waiting. Waiting.

Bucky found that he was holding his breath. Somewhere, inside those stone walls and windows glowing in colors like the sunset was the man he loved, and he was making a mistake. Bucky could picture Steve holding his breath, too. He was about to say words he could never take back. If there was a God above, listening, watching, feeling their hearts and souls, He must surely know suffering.

A crunch upon the road stirred Bucky’s senses. He was pulled from his misery and back into the world to look for the source of the sound. Perhaps latecomers?

Not latecomers, no. Instead, Bucky saw from his vantage point behind the trees, a force of armed men bearing down upon the church with a man who could only be General Ross in the lead.

Bucky weighed his chances. He could run to the left and warn Steve of the threat. They were, after all likely there to smoke him, Bucky, out. He considered the force which marched ever closer, their numbers, their arms. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned right and ran into the thick of the forest.

 

* * *

  
_Steve_

 

His hands shook, so he placed them behind his back and stood tall. Steve felt apart from himself, watching like a guest in the pews at his own wedding. He was pristine, pressed, and shining in his uniform with his many medals pinned just so. He was a sight, but nothing when compared to the radiance that was his bride. She did not walk, but glided into the room, all but skimming upon the air.

The music rose, majestic from the organ. With each step that Peggy took closer to Steve, he felt himself calm. She was not the end of his life as it used to be, but the beginning of a simpler, easier one. Perhaps, with her at his side, he could relax into a world which overlooked him. He watched her smile. It was a special joke just between the two of them. Yes, Steve thought. They could do this.

Just as Peggy arrived at the end of the aisle and they joined hands, an echoing bang sounded throughout the sanctuary. The music stopped and all heads turned to the doors, which were unceremoniously thrust open. Light poured in from the setting sun. Cast in silhouette, illuminated by the bloody red sky behind was the uninvited General his hand upon an undrawn sword, backed by innumerated troops.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Steve, his voice firm against the hush within the crowd.

The General strode up the aisle which Peggy had ascended only a moment before. His walk was sure and decisive. Steve felt the beauty of the ceremony crushed under every heavy step of his boot. The eyes of the onlookers, friends and family, followed the man as he made his way toward them. The marriage had been replaced by an entirely different ceremony.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rogers,” said the general, in a sober and grave manner, “you are wanted for questioning regarding the whereabouts of a most dangerous criminal. For your own safety, I must insist that you return to your home under our guard. We will speak with you there.”

“Sir,” said Steve, every inch the Captain he was, “this is my wedding. I request you permit me to complete—“

“Request denied, Captain. I am granting you every favor due your rank and station by allowing you the privilege to walk free from this church and return to your home.” The General’s tone became icy as he took a step closer to Steve.

“Understood.” Steve said. He turned to Peggy with a look that carried as much weight as he dared risk in the moment. “My darling, forgive me. I am afraid we must do what is asked of us.”

The crowd sat in stunned silence as they walked from the church in the company of the General and his soldiers, wondering what they had just witnessed. Steve took satisfaction in the knowledge that it would be a story told for the next hundred years, at least.

Peggy held Steve’s hand in the carriage ride back to the Shield. “You have something in mind for such an occasion, I trust.” Peggy said, rather than asked, when they were alone.

“How could I have anticipated such a bold move on the General’s part?” Steve asked her. “I was unaware he even suspected us.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

They rested in their anxieties until they arrived back at home. The Shield had always been a source of comfort to Steve. It was the place where he longed to return the moment he was away. Now he dreaded seeing it again, and the moment it loomed in the distance, ominous against the darkening night sky, he wished it gone.

“We will manage.” Peggy whispered before they exited the coach.

Ross assisted Peggy out, and she took his hand as if it were not a vile thing belonging to a repugnant man. In another life, Steve thought, she would have made a good actress.

“Madam,” the General said, “my men shall escort you into your home, where I ask you to remain until this business is attended to. They have already searched the dining hall and parlor. You may remain there.”

“Thank you, General,” Peggy said, in her best approximation of a woman pleased to hear this news, “for telling me which of my own rooms I may visit in my own home.” She turned upon her heel, and with a significant look in Steve’s direction, left them.

“Now, Captain, I have been down to the water and the forest on your property.”

“So good of you to tell me.”

“and I discovered a most strange dwelling,” continued the General. Steve allowed no fear to show upon his face.

“Was the hermit not home?” Steve asked. “You missed a most singular treat.”

“The…” at this the General was caught off guard, “hermit?”

“Yes. It is quite the fashion, you know.”

“I did not know.” Said the General, face slightly red, even in the cool evening breeze.

“Rather silly, perhaps, but whatever Miss Carter wants, Miss Carter gets—or Mrs. Rogers now, I suppose!” Steve made a show of clapping his hand upon the General’s shoulder. If he was to play the dandy, then so he would.

It was in this moment, when Ross’s gaze turned slowly from the hand upon his shoulder to Steve’s face split into a foolish grin that Steve realized he had made a vital mistake. Unlike Bucky and Peggy, Steve was not an actor. That was a skill beyond his set. His face fell as Ross’s eyes pierced through his façade.

“Let us go see what the hermit has observed, and if he can tell our fortunes, shall we?”

Each step Steve took at the General’s side was like descending a step farther into hell. He knew not what he should find at the cave, whether it would be his lover defeated already or the inevitable capture thereof, but each thought that dashed through his mind was worse than the next. He imagined terrible things while the General walked at his side, silent.

When they arrived at the cave, it had been swarmed with soldiers. They were ants, crawling over a dropped morsel at a picnic. It turned Steve’s stomach to see something he treasured treated with such carelessness; Crystals and books lay strewn across the dirt, lamps broken, tapestries torn. He felt a pain at the sight. There was, however, a hope that rose above all else: There was not a trace of Bucky. A sigh of relief escaped Steve before he could restrain himself.

“So you did fear his discovery.”  The General had been watching him closely.

“No.” Steve said, trying to walk backward. “I mean, it made no difference to me if he was here or not. Only, this business has gone far enough. I wish to return home.”

The General only stepped nearer to him, watching with more consideration. “Very well.” Said he at last, then he turned to a soldier nearby. “Take the Captain back to the house. I have further work to do here.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy rushed to Steve the moment he arrived and threw herself into his arms like a wilting flower. “Thank goodness you’ve returned!” She shouted.

The moment the soldiers closed the doors and left them alone, her demeanor changed completely. She was, once again, the competent and collected Peggy Carter that Steve had grown up with, and not a damsel who needed anyone to rescue her. The change in her character was so complete and so sudden that Steve shook his head in amazement.

“Have you been taking lessons from Bucky? You two should audition. I am sure any theatre in the country would take you,” said Steve, finding a seat near the fire.

“I was hardly acting. I was unsure if you would return. You have such a tendency for impulsivity. Now, I have a plan with Natasha. She is already executing the first part as we speak.” Peggy spoke quietly and in a hushed tone, so that no man guarding them on the other side of the door would be able to hear them speak. “Now, we will have to move quickly once—“

They were cut off in their scheming by a knock. The knock came not from the door, but from the floor. They leapt away at once. Steve threw the heavy and ancient rug back and with some effort pried open the trapdoor, though it lay wedged stuck from years of disuse. When finally it came free, Steve pulled it open to reveal Sam, Tony, and Bucky, waiting for him, each with smiles that only adventure could inspire.


	13. In Which a Chase Ensues

Bucky was out of breath when at last he arrived at the end of the tunnel, but no amount of running could exhaust the delight that grew in his breast at the thought of besting General Ross, at outsmarting his enemy, and most importantly, at seeing Steve. He and his co-conspirators had no time at all to grow anxious in the dark beneath the floorboards before the door above their heads was pulled open. There was Steve himself, in a state of surprised confusion to find his lover, his servant, and his friend crammed under the floor in a hidden passage way.

“You cannot be here!” Steve whispered to them all.

“And yet, here we are!” replied Bucky with a casual ere of ease.

“Well?” Sam asked.

“What?” asked Steve, peering through the gap in the curtains to be sure that no soldiers were spying on them.

“Are you coming?” asked Tony.

“Of course we are.” Peggy finished attaching the latch on the satchel that Steve carried his papers in when he went on business. Steve hadn’t noticed her filling it until she swung it over her shoulder. In two seconds she hiked her dress up over her knees in the least proper of fashions and descended the ladder.

“Right,” Said Steve. “but what about the door and the carpet?” Steve asked when he reached the ground.

“Surely you can close the door.” Sam said.

“Yes, I can,” said Steve, “but then it will be apparent that the door has been opened. If I close the door as it is, then I shan’t be able to replace the carpet as it was. Either way, our method of escape will be as plain as day and they will be on our trail the moment someone enters the room.”

“Then decide and let’s be on with it.” Tony said with a sharp jab to Steve’s side. It was the motivation Steve needed. He closed the door and pulled hard on the handle to jam it shut. It would be difficult to open from the other side and would surely make a loud sound to warn them when any pursuer broke through.

It was then that they were left in darkness.

“How did you manage all this way with no light?” Peggy asked.

“Not to worry, Miss,” Tony said, “I have a match. The candle he lit served them in the small space. It was not much more than a hole in the ground, with roots growing from the ceiling and walls and an uneven floor to trip up anyone who did not watch their step. Steve was bent nearly double to traverse the way, but Peggy could manage at a stoop. As such they made their way for a time until it widened and grew taller and they could straighten their backs.

“I suspect we are out from under the house now.” Sam said. They found bags stashed there earlier.

“Good, they’re still here.” Bucky said, gathering up his things, and fit a couple of candles of his own into a stolen silver candelabra and lit them. “Steve,” he said in a low voice, quiet enough to catch the man’s attention. He turned around meeting Bucky’s eyes in the flickering light.

“Yes?”

“You forgot something back there.” Bucky said. Steve replied only with a questioning look until Bucky drew him in for a kiss. It was the answer to everything: why they were here and why they must run and why they would keep running until they found freedom or death.

“If I should forget again, please remind me.” Steve requested.

From far away behind them, they heard the door slam.

“It appears we are being followed. Shall we execute the next phase of our plan, gentlemen (and lady?)” said Tony.

“What is the next phase of the plan?” asked Peggy.

“Run like hell!” Sam Said.

With his good arm, Bucky extended the light out far enough ahead of him that the glow cast a flickering quality along the tunnel and they made careful, quick steps over the uneven earth below their feet. They took the turning, twisting tunnels in silence, ears perked for any sound of their pursuers.

Bucky excelled at this. No—he told himself. Bucky was a different man. He was not James, who had been trained with a blindfold to find the quickest of cats. No longer was he a man trained on starvation and deprivation, who knew loyalty above all else. That man broke. That man ran. That man died. He was a new man with a new name and a new purpose. He was Bucky, not James.

However true and complete his transformation may have been, Bucky had the knowledge that James gleaned from his unfortunate upbringing stored in his mind. If ever there was a time to be glad of that knowledge, now was that time. He held up one hand in an unmistakable sign to stop. Behind him, his fellows piled up.

In the distance, Bucky heard the sound of ungraceful stumbling.

“They are certainly this way.” The frustrated voice of Ross sounded. “There is only one way for them to be!”

“I’m sorry, sir. Meant no offense.” They heard an officer mumble.

“Lights out.” Bucky said, gesturing to Tony. Simultaneously, they extinguished their candles, leaving them at this corner of the tunnel in darkness. Bucky felt Steve’s hand upon his shoulder. It was not fearful, only the feeling of support. Whatever Bucky did next, Steve would be there for it.

It was to Bucky’s great regret that the next stage of his plan required that he shrug Steve’s hand away. He took the time to bring it to his lips before dropping the hand away, so that Steve would not feel abandoned in the complete darkness. Then, Bucky found the edge of the rock in the wall where they stood and began to pull it to the side. This was where the work began, and it was of the utmost necessity that he must accomplish it swiftly and quietly.

Perhaps Steve understood Bucky better than he knew, or perhaps the darkness was not so complete, but Bucky found Steve assisting him. With help, the great slab of rock slid out of its place in the wall with more ease than it could have under the weight of one man alone. Their reward was greater than all the wealth of the Shield combined.

Sweet, fresh, cool air filled their lungs. A gap, just large enough for a man to struggle out of, had been opened. It was part of a low wall, built a hundred years past down by the lake. It felt to Bucky that it had been made for just such a purpose as this. He held it open as Miss Carter slid through first, then Tony, then Sam, and finally Steve. They fit the stone back into place in the wall so that one would never suspect that it was a part of a tunnel beneath, connecting the house to a great cave on the other side of the property.

Without waiting to hear if Ross had continued past them, they made for the next stage.

This was the time to run, and so run they did. Bucky felt the soft, spongey earth beneath each footfall. The grass underfoot was silent and wet with the dew of the evening. Bucky found himself grateful for the way their approach was muffled when they came by the house again on their way to the road.

“Slow now.” Steve whispered over his shoulder.

The soldiers left to guard them stood in clusters. Their watch was all but forgotten while they smoked together, leaning against the wall of the house or else sitting on the stoop passing cards between them. Their prisoners locked safely away inside (for all they knew) and their superior officers away in bed, they had nothing else to do except pass the night.

 With labored steps and tempered breaths, they made their way past the guards in the dark. It was an anxious feat, but an easy one in the shadow of the Shield, casting its protection over them. Bucky felt the home above him like something watchful and ancient.

He felt a warm and tender touch against his hand as they moved. It was a gentle thing that could be blamed nearly upon accident, except for the way that his hand lingered against the Captain’s. They dared not risk more to comfort one another, even during such a bold escape in the dead of night. Such a touch was enough to embolden Bucky.

They walked well into the forestry and passed along adjacent to the road for some time. Through the forest, they heard a shriek that split the silence of the night like a knife. Without consideration for his own safety, Bucky dashed away from the group toward the source of the sound. It came from the direction in which they walked, somewhat closer to the road. Behind him, Bucky heard Steve.

“Bucky, you must not be seen.” Steve whispered, just loud enough to be heard as they ran. Bucky did not reply but continued to run until he found the source of the scream.

When he did find it, he stopped and lay flat against the ground behind the rise to the side of the road to peer in upon the scene. What he saw there may have been the most peculiar event of the evening on any normal night. Two lanterns, each held aloft by a figure standing at an uncomfortable distance from one another, lit the scene.

One figure was General Ross. He stood with a sour expression, as if he had the taste of something he disliked in his mouth. He did not, however, look to be prepared to fight for his arms were safely stowed.

The other person on the road was the real surprise. Bucky would have known his strange apparel anywhere. He wore Bucky’s silks and furs, draped over a skinny body which was most certainly not Bucky’s. His dark hair was twisted into a low ponytail and although his face was freshly shaven and he was significantly smaller than Bucky, he did a fine job in the impersonation. That is, until he heard the voice issue forth from the imposter.

This man was no man at all, but Miss Angie Martinelli, dressed in Bucky’s clothes. Bucky was rendered momentarily baffled by her appearance in such strange garments, on the road at such an hour. Suddenly, the reason became apparent like a bolt of lightning illuminating the scene before him. She was a decoy, left in his stead. She was a distraction. She was in danger.

Bucky scrambled to regain his feet. He would not let her become entangled in a web meant for him. Miss Martinelli was innocent in all of this. As he moved, Steve held him down and shook his head, no. Through the distance, they could hear Angie speaking to the General.

“I am sure this is all a great misunderstanding, sir.” Miss Martinelli said, standing as demurely as her clothing would allow.

“I am unsure what can be misunderstood about such an event, madam.” Said the General.

“Well, you see, I was walking—“

“I do see that.”

“and I was, well—“

“Where is Mr. Barnes?” General Ross snapped.

“Mr. Barnes, sir?” Miss Martinelli asked in a portrayal of greatest confusion.

“Yes. The man whose clothing you are wearing. The man you plan to abscond with this very night. The traitor for whom I have been sent to this town and will now be returning to face trial and a hanging if I have anything to say about it. That Mr. Barnes. Where is he?”

“Oh. Well, I’m terribly sorry, sir. I have never met any Mr. Barnes. I stole my clothes from Mr. Rogers’s tramp when he had them sent up for laundry I was hoping not to be recognized. I am waiting upon Mr. Stark, sir.”

The General was already one step away from Angie, ready to drag her by the wrist all the way back up to the Shield for questioning. Her explanation gave him pause.

“Mr. Stark, you say?”

“Yes, sir,” Miss Martinelli said, now with a whining plea in her voice. “Only, please don’t tell the Master of the house, because he’ll surely fire me for stealing, and the Starks won’t have anything to do with me after this comes to light no matter how kind the Missus is, and everybody knows if the Rogers and the Starks won’t take you, no one will.” Angie began to weep most realistically just as a great cry arose from the guards keeping watch at Shield. It was evident that Steve and Peggy’s absence had been noted at last.

“Very well,” said the General, turning away from a crying Angie, “you may go.”

“Thank you, sir.” Said Angie, wiping her eyes and turning to walk slowly in the opposite direction while the General took flight toward the house.

 

“Angie!” whispered Peggie from the cover of their hideout once Ross had vanished into the night.

“Peggy?”

Peggy struggled up from the ground. The rustle of her dress among the underbrush caught Angie’s ear and drew her closer to their hiding spot. They found each other in the darkness.

“My darling!” Peggy said, drawing her near and pressing a kiss to her lips. “We shall discuss the rashness of your actions once we survive the night. At the moment, let us waste no time. Though I beg you, keep this costume.”

“This was an ingenious diversion, Miss Martinelli,” said Steve with a bow after the rest of the party emerged.

“Thank you, sir, but I did not plan it myself.”

“No?” Asked Peggy. “Good, because I must box somebody’s ears for endangering you, and I certainly wouldn't want it to be your lovely self, my dear. Whose plan was it?”

“Miss Carter, I hope you won’t insist upon boxing my ears. Those who try do not fare well.” Miss Romanov said, stepping forth from the opposite side of the road.

“Steve,” asked Miss Carter, “Isn't this your maid?”

“My dear Peggy,” said Steve, “Miss Romanov is so much more than a maid. She is among the most accomplished ladies I have the pleasure to know.”

Peggy appeared taken aback, Miss Romanov glowed, and Angie stood in Bucky’s clothes with the expression of a woman who had accomplished a job expertly. Bucky himself, observed the scene in silence and appreciated various looks of amusement and confusion that spread across his comrades faces.

He realized a fundamental flaw in the plan: He, Tony, and Sam had made arrangements to get Steve and Miss Carter out of the Shield. That had been accomplished. Miss Martinelli and Miss Romanov had arrived at the exact moment to rescue them from being returned to the Shield. Now, however, they were left on the road, standing in a small huddle, all wondering the same question.

“What now?” Steve asked.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
